He was opening and shutting his hand over Verley's mouth. The dog was licking his hand as if he liked him.
"Verley," I replied.
"Verley! That's a pretty name. Who's he named for?"
"The young Englishman who gave him to me," I said.
"I see!"
He laughed as if I had confided something to him. I said ingenuously:
"He's a real thoroughbred," and that caused him to smile again.
He had turned Verley over on my lap, and was dancing his fingers over the dog's gaping mouth, but he still kept looking at me, with, I thought, a half-interested, half-amused expression.
"He's a fine little fellow," he said. "Where is he going?"