II
Jinny sat stiffly on her seat, Nip clasped in her arms. The singing had ceased. Despite himself Will felt an odd pleasure in the sight of the trim figure so competently poised above Methusalem, and he was touched to note Nip’s tail agitating itself amicably at the sight of him.
“Good evening,” she said politely. “I am glad to see it has not developed.”
“What hasn’t developed?”
“Your hydrophobia. And I am keeping the dog tight, you notice.”
He winced. “Oh, I’m not afraid of him.”
“But I am—he’s already bitten you once: get the cages, please, while I hold him.”
“The cages?” He had a confused idea that Nip was to be caged, was dangerous after all.
“They’re near the tail-board. Nothing to pay.”
He went behind the cart, wondering, semi-incredulous; did indeed perceive a couple of cages in the dusk, and reaching for one, drew back his hand in a hurry from some darting, snapping, creamy, pink-eyed yellowness.