"There's such a lot of chrysanthemums in the drive, Williams, and in your garden too," Billy continued, remembering his instructions to "interest" the sick man, "and Trimmie has scratched up such a lot of bulbs in the bed in the middle of the front lawn, and thrown the earth all over the place."
Trimmie was the autocrat's fox-terrier, and his misdeeds were the only subject upon which Williams ventured to disagree with that gentleman—on occasion expressing a strong desire to thrash "that there varmint of a dog" for sundry scratchings which his master only regarded with admiring amusement.
For the first time for a whole long week Williams raised his head quite two inches from the pillow, exclaiming:
"That there dog'll 'ave to be beat, scrattin' and scramblin' and spilin' my garden——" and Williams dropped his head on the pillow again with an emphatic bump.
Here the nurse interfered, and the autocrat, having succeeded in rousing the patient rather more effectually than the authorities either anticipated or desired, was led away.
Half an hour later the nurse approached his bedside.
"Here's your beef-tea, Mr. Williams!" she almost shouted; "you must try and take it."
"Who be you a-hollerin' at?" growled the patient. "I'll take the messy stuff without so much noise about it."
"I don't believe the old image is half so deaf as he makes out," whispered the nurse to the matron, feeling rather nettled at this unexpected retort.
The old image kept muttering to himself all that day, and those who listened heard remarks to the effect that there was no rest to be expected this side of the grave, that he simply couldn't lie there and think of his garden going to "wrack and rewing, all along of a slippety varmint of a tarrier. Just let me catch him a-scrattin' in my borders, and I'll give 'im what for."