"Ah—but you won't be lonely," I answered, quickly. "You'll miss me a bit—but you won't be lonely. Why I might call a thousand times when you were after a rabbit and you wouldn't come back."
"Yes—but then I knew you thought I wouldn't catch it."
I think I persuaded him though that my knowledge of a dog's psychology was quite right, and for the rest of that evening we sat together. We had tea together. He likes his weak and out of the slop bowl.
But at last came Moxon to catch his train.
"Is Dandy ready, sir?" he asked.
"Quite," said I. It was a short word.
I fastened the chain on to his collar for the last time and patted his head.
"Good-bye, old man," said I, and then Moxon, who is a man of much sense, took him out of the room as I walked across to my desk and picked up a bill to read.
The moment they were in the hall, I laid the bill back on the desk and listened. The hall door was opened. It was closed. I half walked to the window; then stopped. What was the good?
A moment later I heard a bark in the street. I do not know, but I suppose after all I must be a sentimentalist. It seemed to me to say—"Good-bye."