I thought Zaidee looked frightened, as she cast hurried glances around the room.
“Chance! The wretch!” she said. “I didn’t know he followed me. I must send him home.”
“No; let him in,” I insisted.
Mrs. Browne now appeared, armed with a cane and looking very scared.
“There’s a brute of a dog as big as a cow pounding at the door enough to tear it down. Did you bring him? If so, send him home at once. I will not have him here,” she said to Zaidee.
“But, Mrs. Browne,” I interposed, “he is an old friend of mine, and harmless as a kitten. He has come to see me.”
The pounding and pawing was very loud by this time. Chance was in earnest. He had heard my voice, and he meant to come in. Opening the door just a crack, Mrs. Browne stood behind it, out of harm’s way, while, with a bound, Chance was in the room, making the circuit of it first, and with his bushy tail knocking over a chair and upsetting the little table, which went down with a crash, taking with it the vase of flowers, which rolled on the carpet, while the water followed in little puddles.
Having paid his respects to the room, Chance turned to me, and, putting both paws on my shoulders, looked me steadily in the face a moment, then dropped his head on my neck, with a satisfied bark. Mrs. Browne was in the midst of the débris, with her cane upraised to strike the dog; but, when she saw him with his paws around my neck, her jaw dropped, and her cane dropped with it.
“Well, if that don’t beat anything!” she said. “Ain’t you afraid of him?”
“Afraid! No,” I answered, putting his paws from me, but keeping my hand on his mane, as I thought I saw in him signs of another circuit around the room.