Bouncer barked at her.
“You stupid creature, he did not mean you to keep me chained to my chair!” scolded Elinor. “Lie down this instant!”
Bouncer stood his ground and went on growling in a sort of crescendo which could not be regarded as other than menacing. Elinor sat down again. Pleased with his success, Bouncer followed suit, lolled his tongue out, and panted gently.
Chapter VIII
Since the clock in the bookroom did not go, Elinor had no means of ascertaining for how long she was left confronting Nicky’s zealous pet. It seemed a very long time. While she remained still, Bouncer lay peaceably enough, with his head on his paws and his eyes half Closed. But the smallest movement brought his head and his bristles up, while an attempt to win him over by blandishments he took in such bad part that Elinor thought it prudent to desist. Her workbox and the pile of linen to be mended were alike out of her reach, but she found that by stretching out her arm she could reach the whatnot that stood near her chair. There was a small book upon one of its shelves, and she managed to secure this without incurring censure from her guardian. It proved to be a copy of the Turf Remembrancer, and for the next hour and more it was Elinor’s only solace. She culled from it much valuable information such as had not before come in her way, and followed with bewildered interest the careers of several animals who rejoiced in names which ranged from the comparatively commonplace to the wildly fanciful. She could conjure up little enthusiasm for Lightning or Thunderbolt, but read with satisfaction an account of the parentage and prowess of Watch-them-and-catch-them and of Fear-not-Victorious, and would have been almost ready to answer a catechism on their form and the weights they would be likely to carry in any forthcoming race.
But however entrancing the names of race horses might be, the Turf Remembrancer could not but pall upon her. By the time Barrow came into the room midway through the afternoon she was heartily sick of it, and would have been hard put to it not to throw it at Nicky’s head had it been he and not Barrow who entered.
“You never ate the luncheon Mrs. Barrow sent up to the dining parlor, ma’am,” observed Barrow reproachfully. “She made sure you’d be glad of a bite, too.”
“Yes, and so I should,” said Elinor crossly, “but this stupid dog of Mr. Nicholas’s will not let me move from my chair! Do, pray, call him off!”
“Whatever did Master Nicky take and leave that nasty brute here for?” demanded Barrow, eying Bouncer with dislike.
“He—well, he thought I should have him to guard me!” explained Elinor rather lamely.