But Villa Kennan scarcely heard.
“He has Jerry beaten a mile,” Harley muttered to her.
“Listen,” she replied, in tense whispers. “Did you ever see that dog before?”
Harley shook his head.
“You have seen him before,” she insisted. “Look at that crinkled ear. Think! Think back! Remember!”
Still her husband shook his head.
“Remember the Solomons,” she pressed. “Remember the Ariel. Remember when we came back from Malaita, where we picked Jerry up, to Tulagi, that he had a brother there, a nigger-chaser on a schooner.”
“And his name was Michael—go on.”
“And he had that self-same crinkled ear,” she hurried. “And he was rough-coated. And he was full brother to Jerry. And their father and mother were Terrence and Biddy of Meringe. And Jerry is our Sing Song Silly. And this dog sings. And he has a crinkled ear. And his name is Michael.”
“Impossible,” said Harley.