Not that he looked unhappy. He had rather an amused face, but we dogs see below the surface.
“Suppose you stay here till breakfast is over,” he remarked. “No use in bringing on scenes. You’re not hungry, are you?”
I shook my head, and curled up on the window seat. He went away, and stayed a short time. I smelt coffee and steak somewhere near, but I never budged, and after a while he came back.
“Suppose you go down town with me, dog,” he said. “The probability is that you would not spend a very interesting morning with Madame and Beanie.”
He grinned and I grinned, then at last he walked boldly out with me at his heels.
We met the lady in the hall, looking perfectly stunning in some kind of a light coloured morning-gown. Dogs don’t have much of an eye for colour. In fact, most of us are colour blind.
“Rudolph,” she screamed, “didn’t you turn that ugly dog out?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Oh! he’s still there, is he? Likely he’ll leave me down town, and run home. Au revoir, dearie. Don’t over-exert.”
She bent her cheek and he pecked at it, then he went downstairs, and there at the door was such a jolly, seven-seated motor car. Not a limousine, thank fortune. I hate to drive in a glass box.