"Ponto," he told me. "Here's where you and I go into a committee of the whole. What's been going on around here? There's been one hell of a mix-up if you ask me. I had a dream—"
The sooner I got his mind off this subject the safer I would be. I laid my ears back and woofed.
"Attaboy!" he agreed. "Now let's take a look at this paper.... What? Roosevelt's dead? Why doesn't anybody tell me these things? And Germany's about to flop? Whew! Who would have dreamed it? You know, hound, I feel like Rip Van Winkle coming back after twenty years sleep."
I tried to look ingratiating and let my tongue loll fetchingly out of the side of my mouth.
"Say!" he exclaimed harshly. "Now it's beginning to come back. You took my place while I was—God! have you ever been introduced to a great big dog and told she's your wife? Well, damn it! you and Jimmie—Oh, hell, this is one godawful mess! What's been happening around here, anyhow? Am I going nuts?"
I pricked up my ears and gave a false, loving whine. I licked his stinking hands.
"Okay, okay," Winnie agreed. "It's not your fault. But what the hell happened is beyond me. I hate to think of those prime asses, Phil and Graham, in this market. And what happened to Virginia? That's one gal you didn't know about, Ponto. She's for me, and how!"
He took another look at the paper.
"Oh, the hell with it!" he growled. "If Jimmie doesn't like it, she knows what she can do about it. Let's go on home, Ponto, and just tell her man-to-man where she gets off."
I barked.