"Good afternoon," I replied.
"It's a long time," he said, "since you saw any of my kind, I expect?"
"Now I come to think of it," I replied, "it is. How is that?"
"There's a reason," he said. "Put in a nutshell it's this: Peeks." He wheezed horribly.
I asked him to be more explicit, and he amplified his epigram into: "Pekingese."
"They're all the rage now," he explained; "and we're out in the cold. If you throw your memory back a dozen years or so," he went on, "you will recall our popularity."
As he spoke I did so. In the mind's eye I saw a sumptuous carriage-and-pair. The horses bristled with mettle. The carriage was on C-springs, and a coachman and footman were on the box. They wore claret livery and cockades. The footman's arms were folded. His gloves were of a dazzling whiteness. In the carriage was an elderly commanding lady with an aristocratic nose; and in her lap was a pug dog of plethoric habit and a face as black as your hat.
All the time my new acquaintance was watching me with streaming eyes. "What do you see?" he asked.
I described my mental picture.
"There you are," he said; "and what do you see to-day? There, look!"