Well, they did out with it this day. A dog-show seemed a strange place for a recognition between a noble Englishman and his long-lost nephew, but stranger things than that have happened.
Sir Edward had arrived two days before, and Mr. Bonstone had not seen him until he met him coming into the show with Mrs. Waverlee and Egbert.
Gringo and I stared at them. “My poor boss,” said the old dog, “his eyes are eager. He’d like to have relatives like other folks.”
Mrs. Waverlee was sweetly self-possessed. No one would have guessed that she was very much excited, and was watching her father and Mr. Bonstone surreptitiously.
I have forgotten to say that Walter Scott was chained the other side of Gringo and King Harry, and the three grown-up persons and the boy were fondling us alternately.
Mr. Bonstone was delighted that he would be able to take Gringo away that evening. “Only a few hours more, kid,” he said in a low voice as he softly rubbed his hand over Gringo’s rose ears. A seal ring, his only ornament, for he hated even a breast pin, caught the old baronet’s eye. Now he had evidently noticed no familiar resemblance in this man, but he could not help recognising the ring on which was engraved the family crest.
He didn’t say anything. He was a very well set-up, self-possessed old gentleman, and very English. He simply turned a little pale, and said, “May I look at that ring?”
Mr. Bonstone nodded, and taking it off, handed it to him.
“This old man’s father was a tartar,” Gringo whispered to me. “It’s rough on him to remember how he and the young brother who had pluck enough to run away were bullyragged.”
Mr. Bonstone stood fondling Gringo’s head, and looking calmly at his relative.