"Is he any particular breed?" said Berry. "Or just a pot-pourri?"
I braced myself with a draught of champagne before replying. Then—
"He's a Sealyham," I said.
Uprose a damnatory chorus.
"I do hereby protest," said Berry. "A barbarous breed, notorious for its unprovoked ferocity. Peaceable possession of our tenement will be unknown. Ingress and egress will be denied us. Substantial compensation will be an everyday affair. Any more for the Pasteur Institute?"
"Rot," said I. "You're jealous."
"They've awfully uncertain tempers," said Daphne. "Maisie Dukedom had one, and it went down and bit a new cook, who'd just come, before she'd got her things off. They had to give her five pounds, put her up at an hotel for the night, and pay her fare back to Bristol. And she had wonderful references."
"Instinct," said I. "The dog saw through her. They ought to have been grateful."
"Truth is," said Jonah, "they're a bit too sporting for London."
"Look here," said I, consulting my watch. "At the present moment the poor little dog is probably fretting his soul out in the servants' hall. So we'll have to keep him to-night. If he's the ravening beast you say he is, he shall be fired to-morrow. If not, I shall stick to him. That's fair enough, isn't it?"