After I had been there a while—not so very long though—a queer-looking man and woman came to the shop. The woman had a bright hat, and the man had black hair, and eyes that made me feel queer when he looked at me.
He didn’t look at me at first, though. He looked at the finer dogs that were in open cages down below us. They were chained there, and there were no tops or fronts to the cages but just backs and sides to keep the dogs from getting at each other.
The man and woman stopped in front of my cage, and the woman said, “How about a poodle?”
They were looking at the dog just below us.
“No, no! Ab-so-lutely no,” said the man. “We already have two. That is enough.”
Then he raised his eyes and looked straight at me. I was sitting at the front of the cage, and when he looked at me I stood up and wagged my tail and then I grinned.
“See! See!” cried the man, and he caught the woman by the arm. “It is he! The one we want. His eyes, so full of intelligence! And that smile, for it is a smile. There is our clown dog. Just the one we want!”
He turned and snapped his fingers, and called to the shopman in a quick, sharp voice.
The man came hurrying toward him.
“This one,” said the stranger. “The little dog with the black around his eye. Take him out that I may see him!”