The other dogs never would play with me. I think maybe Bijou would have liked to but he was ashamed. The other dogs seemed to think it was common to play.
Mary used to take them out for a walk in the street every day, with a leather strap fastened to each of their collars so they wouldn’t run away or get lost. I wished I could go too; but she never took me. It must have been fun out in the street, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be held by a strap.
Tommy had given me a very pretty collar. It was red and had a bright buckle. The other dogs were disgusted because I had one. They said only fine dogs such as they were ought to have collars, and that it was absurd for me to have one too. But I didn’t care. I felt very proud that Tommy had given it to me. It made me seem more his dog than ever.
I tried to make friends with Tommy’s mother, but she didn’t seem to want to be friends with me. His father used to speak to me sometimes, and once or twice he patted me. He said I was a funny little dog.
I wished I could go too.
There was a big room they called the drawing-room. It had soft rugs and big soft chairs and sofas, and there was almost always a fire in the fireplace. The other dogs often went in there and slept in front of the fire or on the furniture. I tried to do it once or twice too, but always someone came and drove me out just as I got settled, and James was so cross about it that I stopped going in there after a while. James was the man who worked about and did things with the food. They called him a butler.
Sometimes, in the afternoons, ladies and gentlemen came to the house to visit Tommy’s mother. They went in the drawing-room and laughed and talked, and Mary or James would carry in a tray with plates of cakes, and cups, and saucers and things. Fifine said it was afternoon tea, but I smelled cake, too.
Sometimes Mary came and called the other dogs and took them in there, but she never called me. Once I tried to go along, but she drove me back, and Prince Coco snarled at me. Often, when Mary took them in, I would hear the ladies cry, “What perfect little ducks of dogs!” Or, “What loves of little doggies!”
When the dogs came back again they were always prouder then ever. They would tell me how the different ladies had petted them and praised them, and had given them bits of cake,—only little bits, because the mistress said too much cake wasn’t good for little doggies. They would lick their lips and tell me how delicious the cake was, until it made my mouth water to hear about it.