After that night he growled louder than ever at the word Boche.
One day about a week after the night bombing expedition Pep’s master came into the dispensary. Pep was lying under the table on his favorite rug, asleep, but he aroused himself at the familiar step.
“Hello, old sport,” said the physician, tossing a stick of cinnamon candy under the table to the dog.
Pep was very fond of candy, especially of cinnamon. His master, who was something of a joker, said it was because of the bark in it. The terrier wagged his tail in appreciation, swallowed the candy after two or three crunches and came out to greet his master.
The doctor sat down heavily in the easy chair by the table and motioned for Pep to come up into his lap. This was a privilege for special occasions and the dog complied with alacrity.
The doctor looked about the room wearily. He had just come off duty after eighteen hours, and was very tired. The large room was nearly empty, the only other occupant being a young man who sat at a typewriter clicking away for dear life at the other end of the room.
“It’s just you and I, Pep,” said the man, running the dog’s silky ears through his fingers in a way the terrier loved. “We can have a good visit, Pep. I’m lonesome, old chap. I want you to comfort me. I am thinking of the dear old home and the mistress. What do you suppose the little woman is doing to-day? I’ll bet you another stick of candy against three wags of your tail that she is thinking of us. I am sure of that, old sport.”
The dog took the proffered candy gingerly in his teeth and then dropped it disdainfully on the floor. His master was incredulous, so stooped and picked up the candy and offered it again. Pep was usually ravenous for candy but he again dropped it on the floor, then sat up very straight and looked hard into his master’s face. His ears were cocked. His expression was inquiring. There was something afoot, something in the wind that he did not like. No candy for him until his master smiled, or looked more cheerful.
The look that the dog fastened on his face was so intent that the master’s gaze fell before that of his inquisitor. He pulled the dog’s ear to distract him. But he would not be distracted. Instead, he put his paws on the man’s shoulders, and looked fairly into his face. The man stooped down and kissed him on the top of the head.
“You are all I have to kiss now, Pep,” he said. “I’d rather kiss you than some folks. I’m thinking of home, old chap.”