Alice groaned. "He probably saved my life, but I can't help it, Anthony, I can't welcome him like the guest he should be. Either he'll eat us out of house and home, or he'll crowd us out—"
"I can take him back or give him to someone else," observed Anthony. "I already have an offer."
"No—I'm afraid we need him too much." She looked at the animal grimly, and said, "You win, Rover. You're one of the family."
Rover bent his head, and Anthony scratched it. Small said, "Daddy, could he give me a ride?" and Anthony put the boy on the dog's back, and watched him parade clumsily around the room, knocking over no more than two chairs. A moment later, the boy slipped off, beaming.
"I think it'll work out," said Anthony.
As if in answer, Small's eyes seemed to pop out of his head, while his finger pointed. Alice shrieked, and in her voice there was the expression of stark tragedy such as Aristotle had never known, of the ultimate outrage of a malignant and remorseless fate: "He isn't housebroken!"