Pinkie Scott was Tommy’s nearest neighbour, though that does not mean that she lived near enough for them to grow tired of each other’s society, for the houses on the hillside of Dogtown were few and set amid plenty of land. Pinkie had three dogs,—a stout black and tan dachshund named Hans Sachs, and twin fox terriers called Luck and Pluck, which names exactly describe their character.
Hans was an extremely amiable dog of the now fashionable “turnspit” variety, and possessed a keen sense of humour, which he expressed by a most wonderful scale of barks varying from a sub-cellar basso to high c. When a particular bit of fun tickled him, he would plant his bent fore feet, a joke in themselves, and whirl round and round like a pinwheel.
He was Pinkie’s constant companion, followed her wherever she went, and slept on a mat at her door. Luck and Pluck, though devoted by fits and starts, were not nearly so reliable, often taking runs a whole morning long quite by themselves; but then, unless fox terriers can run until they are tired, they jump about like four-legged electric batteries and make one nervous.
Wednesday would be Dorothy’s sixth birthday, so the tea-party was set for that afternoon, and the day before, the two cousins, each carrying her pet doll, walked up and down in the shade of the arbour playhouse, trying to make up their minds whom they would invite and what they should have to eat, for parties were very informal affairs among the little folks, an invitation given a day in advance being considered not only quite sufficient, but particularly desirable by their parents. It takes a very grand affair indeed to withstand long anticipation.
“We’ll ask Sophie and Charlie Mayhew and Silvie their dog, of course; that’s two people and one dog,” said Pinkie, counting on her fingers.
“And Tommy and Anne and all their dogs,” added Dorothy.
“Tommy and Jack Waddles,” corrected Pinkie. “Anne is too old, and of course Mr. and Mrs. Waddles are.”
“But Waddles loves tea parties and things to eat, and cheers like anything when he even smells five-o’clock tea biscuit,” pleaded Dorothy; but Pinkie’s mind was made up; “He is too greedy,” she said. “At Miss Jule’s dog party he ate nearly a whole box of ‘five-o’clock teas,’ the lovely mixed ones, pink and chocolate and white, and mother has only given me two boxes for the whole party. Of course we shall ask Jessie and Jack Lane, and they’ve got two dogs, Toodles and Blackberry.”
“That only makes five people and five dogs,” said Dorothy, unable to deny Waddles’s greed, especially where the crisp tea biscuit, his pet delicacy, were concerned. “Who will be six?”
“Miss Letty and Hamlet of course,” replied Pinkie, with the air of one announcing a star attraction.