“Pinky, you would be the best one to go. You are so small that you can squeeze in anywhere out of sight under a chair or sofa, and listen to all that is said.”
“Oh, I don’t want to go! I am afraid they will kick me out if they should catch me listening. Besides, I want to stay here and hear Mr. Billy Whiskers relate his experiences. It is so dull here after Paris that I just long for some excitement, and I am sure Mr. Whiskers’ tales will be all that.”
“You run along, Miss Pinky, and I’ll tell you just what I tell them some other time all by yourself. Besides, you won’t miss much as our friend here, the Red Cross dog, can tell you adventures a hundred times more exciting than I can.”
“Oh, no, he can’t. But I will go if you promise to repeat word for word to me all you tell them when we are alone some time.”
“Thank you very much, Miss Pinky.”
“Don’t call me Pinky! That is not my name! It is only a nasty, mean nickname the dogs have given me because I am afflicted with pink lids to my eyes, the same as many poodle dogs. I just hate that name! But I can’t stop them from using it.”
“And pray what is your real name?” asked Billy.
“Rosie de la France. And it is such a pretty one I like to be called by it.”
“Well, hereafter I will call you Mademoiselle Rosie de la France. But I cannot see much difference between Rosie and Pinky, as they are both pretty much the same color.”