"You want to give me a dog—but why? Or do you only want me to keep him a bit for you?"
"Well, it's like this, Miss Ross; it would be cheek to ask you to keep a young dog, and when you'd had all the trouble of him and got fond of him—and you'll get awfully fond of him, if you have him—to take him away again. It wouldn't be fair, it really wouldn't ... so...."
"Wait a bit," said the cautious Jan. "What sort of a dog is he ... if it is a he...."
"He's a bull-terrier...."
"Oh, but I don't think I'm very fond of bull-terriers ... aren't they fierce and doesn't one always associate them with public-houses? I couldn't have a fierce dog, you know, because of the two children."
"They're always nice with children," Captain Middleton said firmly. "And as for the pothouse idea—that's quite played out. I suppose it was that picture with the mug and the clay
pipe. He'd love the children; he's only a child himself, you know."
"A puppy! Oh, Captain Middleton, wouldn't he eat all our shoes and things and tear up all the rugs?"
"I think he's past that, I do really—he'll be a year old on Monday. He'll be a splendid watchdog, and he's not a bit deaf—lots of 'em are, you know—and he's frightfully well-bred. Just you look at the pedigree ..." and Captain Middleton produced from his breast-pocket a folded foolscap document which he handed to Jan.
She gazed at it with polite interest, though it conveyed but little to her mind. The name "Bloomsbury" seemed to come over and over again. There were many dates and other names, but "Bloomsbury" certainly prevailed, and it was evident that Captain Middleton's dog had a long pedigree; it was all quite clearly set down, and, to Jan, very bewildering.