Another growl, and the noise of Peter’s claws digging into the matting, as he scrambled to his feet. Eleanor turned on the light hastily, but Peter, unpropitiated and growling angrily, came forward a step or two and stood defiantly, ready to resist any encroachment on his domain.
“Why, Peter, you silly dog,” coaxed Eleanor. “Don’t you know me? Did you think I was a burglar coming in the dark to rob your dear master? Well, I’m not. Come here, Peter, good dog!”
Generally Peter would have come pattering across the floor, eager to lick Eleanor’s hand. To-night he only growled again and showed his teeth. Eleanor had had very little experience with dogs, and she was horribly frightened at Peter’s extraordinary behavior. She remembered that when she came down to New York and was introduced to the apartment and to the room that Jim had moved out of because it was the largest and pleasantest he had to offer her, Jim had warned her to “go slow” with Peter Pan.
“He seems to have a little prejudice against strangers, especially ladies,” Jim had said. “He snapped pretty hard at the janitor’s wife one day when she was making my bed. She won’t come in now unless he’s out or chained. Don’t try to pet him if he acts cross. He may resent your moving into my special quarters.”
But Peter Pan had never acted cross or regarded Eleanor as an interloper, and Eleanor had petted him, taken him walking in the park, and quite forgotten Jim’s warning until now.
“Peter,” began Eleanor desperately again, “please stop growling. I’ve got to dress, and to do that I’ve got to come in where you are and go right past you to my dressing-room. Now be a good dog and cheer up.” Peter Pan paid no attention to this pathetic appeal. He growled again in a low but menacing key, and yawned, showing all his teeth once more in the process.
Eleanor shivered and retreated a step or two so that she could see the clock in the sitting-room. Twenty minutes past seven; if Jim came for her, she could dress and arrive late, but if not—— On a chair near the door of her room were the walking skirt and blouse she had taken off. Near by were her black pumps. She had changed her stockings to a pair of pale yellow silk ones, leaving those she had taken off in the dressing-room, with her yellow dress and evening cape. Unless Jim came, she must appear at Dick’s party in yellow stockings, black shoes, a mussy linen blouse, and a blue serge street-suit, or she must pass that growling dog twice in order to get her evening things. She wouldn’t be downed! There was a dog-whip in the hall; she would get that and armed with it make the fatal dash. Then she remembered Jim’s warning. “He’s a dandy dog, but a puppy’s temper is always uncertain. So go slow and don’t get near him when he’s low in his mind.”
Visions of herself pinioned helplessly in Peter Pan’s vise-like grip until Jim, frightened at her failure to appear at the theatre, should appear, perhaps after she had endured hours of agony, to rescue her, kept Eleanor from going after the dog-whip. Bulldogs did maim and even kill people. Even a yellow dress, chosen especially to suit Dick’s fastidious taste, wasn’t worth that risk. But if she went in her street suit they would all laugh at her and say that there wasn’t any risk. Two big tears dropped from Eleanor’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She brushed them away scornfully, and crooning soft speeches to Peter Pan reached for the black pumps, the mussy blouse, and the walking skirt. Having secured them, she slammed the door upon the hateful dog, locked it, and dressed before the tiny mirror over the mantelpiece. Her tricorn hat and her coat were in the hall, but Dick’s violets were in the dressing-room. Eleanor almost wept again as she thought of them. If only Jim came for her! But he didn’t—he sent a puffing taxi, whose driver stared curiously at her yellow stockings as he held open the door for her.
Everybody in the theatre lobby seemed to be staring. Eleanor’s face flushed as she hurried to Dick’s box. As she pulled back the curtain Dick jumped to meet her—and he stared at her stockings. The dull devoted ladies and the pretty girl for Jim were in very elaborate evening gowns—and they stared at her stockings, then at her mussy shirt-waist, and her plain little hat.
“Introduce me quick,” pleaded Eleanor softly to Dick, who was trying to take her coat, “and then I can explain my clothes. No, I can’t take off my coat. It’s all the fault of that horrid, hateful Peter Pan.”