The dog answered her question by appearing, with a stretch and a yawn, from beneath a bunk. He had heard his name in Courtenay’s voice. That sufficed for Joey at any time.
“What a strange animal!” went on Isobel. “I should have thought that he would bark, or peep out at us, at the least, when we came in.”
“Joey had a disturbed night,” said Courtenay. “We passed the evening in the Hotel Colon, and he regards South American hotels as the natural dwelling-place of cats, and other bad characters. Here, he is at home, and he knew that I was present.”
“Otherwise, he would have classified us as suspicious?”
“He is far too discriminating. What do you say, pup?”
Joey looked up at his master. Apparently, he found the conversation trivial; he yawned again, capaciously.
“You darling! You must have slept with one eye open,” said Elsie, stooping to pat him.
“Oh, take care!” cried Isobel. “He may bite you.”
“Not he! When you see that wistful look in a dog’s eyes, have no fear. He wants to speak then. You won’t bite me, will you, dear?” And Elsie sank on one knee, to stroke Joey’s white coat; whereupon Joey tried to lick her face.
“Between the Stevenson Library and the captain’s dog you are installed as a prime favorite on board the Kansas,” commented Isobel. The other girl rose hurriedly. She had caught the touch of malice in the smooth voice.