“I’ll not knuckle under to any dog,” said Gringo decidedly. “Take every blow like a thoroughbred is my motto, but when you once tackle, never give up till they come in and pick you up.”
“But you haven’t had any quarrel with him. Come now, go over to him and say you’ve had a pleasant call, and hope he may come to see you some day.”
Gringo hesitated, then he shuffled over to the hearth-rug.
Walter got up as he saw him approaching and presently I saw him lifting his upper lip in a dog smile. He was satisfied.
“He will be a splendid friend to you,” I whispered in Gringo’s ear, as they both approached me. “Cultivate him, cultivate him.”
For a wonder, and to my disappointment, master didn’t want to go for a further walk that evening. I was a little troubled about him, as I ran home after him. He was talking to himself, and sometimes he smiled, and sometimes he frowned.
Arrived in our apartment, where his wife received him with uplifted eyebrows, he did what he rarely did—sat down beside her for a talk. There they were each side of the little table, the electric light between them.
“Clossie,” he said, “I believe Stanna is going to be married.”
Phlegmatic as she was, the news of an engagement always excited Mrs. Granton.