'No; it's no use thinking of it. I couldn't do it. If it weren't for the immortality of the soul, and that inconvenient religious training I've got! Now if I were a Pagan, I could freely end my woes in that silent river; but I'm a Christian, and must suffer them, and curse my kind.'
A mournful yet affectionate whine at his feet attracted his attention. He looked down. A lank, ugly cur, of unassignable breed, but unmistakably currish—a rank, unmitigated cur, with melancholy visage and moist eyes—returned the look.
'Poor dog, you, too, have hunger in your face. The world has deserted you!'
The dog whined again, and rubbed his thin sides familiarly and confidently against the bottom of O'Hara's trousers.
'Alas! friend, I am like yourself—a wretched, friendless dog. Your imploring looks are lost on me, though, Heaven knows, I would relieve you if I could. Haud ignara mali miseris succurrere disco. Faith! the gender is wrong there. My grammar is going with everything else. I suppose I should have said ignarus.'
He faintly smiled at the notion.
'But I have nothing—absolutely nothing,' running his hand expressively across his waistcoat-pockets. It stopped—his face lit up joyfully; then fell. 'Blessed,' continued he, 'are those who expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed,' and slowly putting his hand into the pocket he extracted, with difficulty, a silver piece of ten sous. He looked at it steadily, almost incredulously, then at the dog. 'Come, my friend,' he cried, 'companion in misfortune, you must share my luck.' And five minutes afterwards O'Hara and his dumb acquaintance might be seen in the nearest crêmerie, O'Hara munching a roll of bread and the houseless dog greedily lapping a bowl of hot milk.
And both of them looked very happy dogs.
CHAPTER II.
A CRUSH AT THE MORGUE.
WHEN the stray dog had finished his welcome repast, licking the sides of the bowl which had contained it with a gusto which many a dyspeptic favourite, fondled on the velvet cushion of my lady, and carried about by my lady's footman, would have envied, O'Hara began to talk with him; yes, to talk with him—and the dog answered him, as far as eyes and tail could speak.