“I can’t, sir,” answered the butler. “My young lady has ordered the glass dog to bark whenever you call here. You’d better look out, sir,” he added, “for if it bites you, you may have glassophobia!”
This so frightened the poor glass-blower that he went away hurriedly. But he stopped at a drug store and put his last dime in the telephone box so he could talk to Miss Mydas without being bitten by the dog.
“Give me Pelf 6742!” he called.
“Hello! What is it?” said a voice.
“I want to speak with Miss Mydas,” said the glass-blower.
Presently a sweet voice said: “This is Miss Mydas. What is it?”
“Why have you treated me so cruelly and set the glass dog on me?” asked the poor fellow.
“Well, to tell the truth,” said the lady, “I don’t like your looks. Your cheeks are pale and baggy, your hair is coarse and long, your eyes are small and red, your hands are big and rough, and you are bow-legged.”
“But I can’t help my looks!” pleaded the glass-blower; “and you really promised to marry me.”
“If you were better looking I’d keep my promise,” she returned. “But under the circumstances you are no fit mate for me, and unless you keep away from my mansion I shall set my glass dog on you!” Then she dropped the ’phone and would have nothing more to say.