Mr. Benham helped himself to fish-pie, and spoke dully through the steam.
“Well, what happened was this. Knowing her as intimately as you do—”
“I don’t know her!”
“Well, anyway, it was like this. As you know, she has a dog—”
“I didn’t know she had a dog,” protested Archie. It seemed to him that the world was in conspiracy to link him with this woman.
“Well, she has a dog. A beastly great whacking brute of a bulldog. And she brings it to rehearsal.” Mr. Benham’s eyes filled with tears, as in his emotion he swallowed a mouthful of fish-pie some eighty-three degrees Fahrenheit hotter than it looked. In the intermission caused by this disaster his agile mind skipped a few chapters of the story, and, when he was able to speak again, he said, “So then there was a lot of trouble. Everything broke loose!”
“Why?” Archie was puzzled. “Did the management object to her bringing the dog to rehearsal?”
“A lot of good that would have done! She does what she likes in the theatre.”
“Then why was there trouble?”
“You weren’t listening,” said Mr. Benham, reproachfully. “I told you. This dog came snuffling up to where I was sitting—it was quite dark in the body of the theatre, you know—and I got up to say something about something that was happening on the stage, and somehow I must have given it a push with my foot.”