“You can’t rest that way.”
Whisky opened one eye and looked at Bogle. Then he turned on his back and folded his legs over his chest again.
“Gawdamn it,” Bogle said. “Did you ever see such a dawg?” and he bustled forward to unfold Whisky’s legs again.
I suppose Whisky decided not to tolerate this interference. Opening one eye sharply, he regarded Bogle’s hands with a sour look and then thrusting his nose forward he clicked his teeth with a snap like a mouse-trap.
I guess Bogle thought he’d lost his hand. He didn’t dare look, but sat on the floor, breathing heavily until I had assured him that Whisky had missed him by an eighth of an inch. Then he removed himself to the far end of the room, where he sat in a chair and scowled at the dog.
“Listen,” I said. “Don’t think I’m unsociable. I’m not. I’ve always been sociable. I’m the guy they laughed at when I sat down at the piano. But, right now, my nerves are on edge and I’d like you and Whisky to take a little walk. I don’t want you to go far. I’d even stand for seeing you at a distance, but I can’t stand much more of your heavy breathing and the dog’s affected attitude. So, would you drift… the pair of you?”
“Every time you open your trap, you write a book,” Bogle said. “I’m waiting for Ansell. He’s coming to have a talk. Besides, I’ve ordered breakfast to be sent up. You’ve got the best room, ain’t you?”
“Well, Precious, you see how it is,” I said to Myra. “We’ll have to postpone our little talk. I just can’t keep my mind on anything so long as Whisky’s with us.”
Myra got off the bed and stretched. “I don’t think we would have got anywhere,” she said, a little wearily. “I’m afraid talking won’t help me.”
“Did you say you’d ordered breakfast?” I asked Bogle.