“Some of them—I’ll get you good introductions.”
“You’re a nobby fellow,” said poor Gringo with a roll of his eyes at me. “You know the ropes, and I don’t. Mister’s got to be in society for a while, and I’d like to get one paw in anyway.”
“You’ll get your four feet in,” I said, rising, for I saw master bending over Mrs. Resterton’s hand. “I’ll run you as an eccentric dog of distinguished lineage.”
“You might tell them my record,” said Gringo anxiously. “I licked Blangney Boy in 1912, and Handsome Nick in 1913 and——”
“I don’t believe the fighting will count much up here,” I replied. “It will be more your manners, and how much you are worth. You’ve got to run on your master’s philanthropy, and his English ancestry. Don’t mention his barmaid mother though.”
“Barmaids and barmen are just as good as anybody,” said Gringo stoutly.
“Yes, yes, I know, but there’s a lot of temperance sentiment up here, and if you just have to talk along drinking lines, the wholesale brewery or distillery act would take better than your retail trade. Just you wait for your cue from me.”
Gringo’s eyes watered. “’Pon my word, I’m glad I met you,” he said. “If ever you want a friend just reckon on my jaws.”
“Try to make it up with Sir Walter Scott,” I said anxiously. “He’s a leader in dog society about here, though not a great favourite personally. It wasn’t really etiquette for me to force you in, but I just had to see your master.”