But Antaeus was more subtle than I. He wished to avoid the appearance of collusion between us, which might have been given by the execution of the rudimentary strategem I have outlined. (Or perhaps the real explanation of it is that he knew the fat little beasts of ponies were of too phlegmatic a temperament to be disturbed by a bugaboo.) At any rate they only blinked sleepily at Antaeus and then went off into a peaceful doze, entirely unmoved by his nearness. With the black-vis-aged pug, however, it was quite otherwise. He regarded the monster as an interloper, a trespasser, and he began to bark at him angrily. Perceiving that his scoldings had no effect, he lost his temper entirely, and, jumping down from the carriage seat, ran forward toward the advancing engine and continued his barking with redoubled force and fury. His mistress' attention was now aroused, and, seeing how persistently he put himself in the track of the roller, she became uneasy. She called to him persuasively, authoritatively, beseechingly, but he paid her no heed. Apparently he had more faith in himself than had King Canute when he gave his memorable lesson to his courtiers by the seashore.
From his position in the rear the Driver could not see the dog, and I doubt if he clearly understood the situation, for he made no attempt to avert the threatened catastrophe. The ridiculous animal stood his ground and kept up his remonstrances against the invader; the alarmed young lady threw an eloquently imploring look at me; and Antaeus came on, stolid, grim and impassive. Meanwhile, strangely enough—as it seems to me now—I remained inactive until my coadjutor, justly irritated, suddenly growled out what I took to mean:
“Come! come; stupid, now is your time; why don't you bestir yourself?”
Then I awakened to a full sense of my responsibilities and opportunities, and rushing to the fore, seized the rash and obstinate pug by the scruff of the neck and restored him, rescued from the Juggernaut, to the arms of his grateful mistress.
Thus did Antaeus fulfill his share of our agreement.
This little incident broke the ice. In less than a week the young lady and I knew each other almost intimately. It transpired that we were in fact old acquaintances. That is to say, she remembered me when I was at home during one college vacation, and she hoped I had not forgotten the small miss who used to come over and play tea-party with my sister. I replied that I should hope not, indeed, and mentally took myself to task for not being surer about it. The boy of seventeen is less likely to be impressed with the girl of eight than is the young man of twenty-eight with the maiden of nineteen. I was positive that at the end of another eleven years I should have had no trouble in recalling her to mind.
I am not a tennis enthusiast, but I will admit that my white flannel suit had a chance to contrast itself with the velvety green of the lawn across the way rather frequently after that. It was a convenient and plausible excuse for being with her a good deal.
