“That will be fine,” I said, “for then the boys will be self-supporting.”
“I didn’t finish my day, Boy,” said the old dog, “after we tot up things down at the village, we have our supper, and don’t the food taste first-class, then a short evening on the veranda, and then bed. I tell you it’s a full day, as full as a Bowery day.”
I laughed, and he laughed too; then I said, “I’m mighty glad, old man, that the intimacy between our two families has kept up.”
“So am I,” said he, “but do you know what I overheard when we first came out? Says my missie to your missie, ‘Claudia, we are only a mile apart. If we see too much of each other, we shall fight. We ’most did the other day—and our husbands shouldn’t be too much together. They’ll fall out, sure as rats.’”
“Did she says ‘rats’?” I asked.
“Oh! that, or something like it,” said the old dog so impatiently that I resolved not to interrupt him again.
“Well,” he went on, “says she, says my missie to yours, ‘I’d hate to have a break,’ and your missie said so would she, then they said they wouldn’t call for a week, and next morning your missie was over to borrow a pattern for a pair of knitted reins for Georgie to play horsie, and my missie was back in the afternoon to take her some sweet pickles she had been making. So there you are—and I must not forget to say that the two families were all over on your veranda in the evening.”
“Good joke,” I said laughing heartily, “and we dogs are just as friendly as the human beings.”
“Thick as thieves,” said Gringo, “and I must say we’re a pretty good gang.”