“And you would be satisfied with two hundred dollars?”
“I’d be satisfied with a hundred and fifty,” she said, “he’s no longer quite young, according to looks. His amount of flesh ages him.”
Beanie gasped and panted by the fire, and finally went to hide his shamed head in the corner.
“I suppose you know he understands all this,” said Mr. Granton.
“I don’t believe it,” she said, “he’s only a dog.”
This roused poor young Beans. He waddled up to her, rose on his hind legs, and laid his two forepaws on her lap. His mouth was wide open, and he was panting heavily, trying to look engaging and fascinating, and succeeding only in looking silly.
“Go away, you little fool,” she said pushing him aside. “I’ve taken a dislike to you.”
Beanie went to hide his diminished head under the sofa.
Mr. Granton was drawing a fountain pen from his pocket, and a little book. He wrote out a cheque for one hundred and fifty dollars, and gave it to her.