"She says something about you," said Daphne, turning over a sheet. "Here you are. Give Berry my love. If I'd been with you at Oxford, when he got busy, I should just have died. All the same, you must admit he's a scream. I'm longing to see Nobby. He sounds as if he were a dog of real character...."
"Thank you," said her husband, with emotion. "Thank you very much. 'A scream,' I think you said. Yes. And Nobby, 'a dog of character.' I can't bear it."
"So he is," said I. "Exceptional character."
"I admit," said Berry, "he's impartial. His worst enemy can't deny that. His offerings at the shrine of Gluttony are just as ample as those he lays before the altar of Sloth."
"All dogs are greedy," said Jill. "It's natural. And you'd be tired, if you ran about like him."
"He's useful and ornamental and diverting," said I. "I don't know what more you want."
"Useful?" said Berry, with a yawn. "Useful? Oh, you mean scavenging? But then you discourage him so. Remember that rotten fish in Brook Street the other day? Well, he was making a nice clean job of that, he was, when you stopped him."
"That was a work of supererogation. I maintain, however, that nobody can justly describe Nobby as a useless dog. For instance——"
The sudden opening of the door at once interrupted and upheld my contention.
Into the room bustled the Sealyham, the personification of importance, with tail up, eyes sparkling, and gripped in his large mouth the letters which had just been delivered by the last post.