Half an hour later Mr. Lock, furnished with a very circumstantial story about a carriage accident to account for the spectacular state of his features, had the felicity of being introduced to Mrs. Golightly and her husband by Mr. Horace Dobb. The conventions of etiquette thus fulfilled, Mr. Dobb came straight to the point of the business in hand.
“Peter’s going to do you a favour and cure that ’ere cat of yours, ain’t you, Peter?” he observed.
“All being well, yes,” said Mr. Lock, modestly.
“If you can’t cure it, no one can!” gushed Mr. Dobb. “You’re a wonder at curing animals, Peter, and you knows that’s true. Remember that dog you cured for the dook?”
“Which one?” asked Mr. Lock, carelessly.
“The—the blood’ound,” answered Mr. Dobb.
“I meant, which dook?” said Mr. Lock.
“The—the one what give you the gold watch and chain,” replied Mr. Dobb. “Show ’em to Mrs. Golightly, Peter; she’d like to see ’em.”
Mr. Lock’s hand made a movement towards his waistcoat, and then checked itself. “I forgot,” he said, with a smile. “I left it at the bank in London, along with all them other testimonials and medals I’ve got for animal doctoring. A chap what lives a travelling, seafaring life,” he explained to the lady, “needs to be careful of his property.”
“Yes, indeed,” she assented. “But I wonder you don’t give up the sea and settle down ashore.”