Mr. Meacham leaned against a convenient lamp-post; he seemed of a sudden overcome by some powerful emotion.
"What's the joke?" asked Mr. Pottle.
"Pershing!" Mr. Meacham was just able to get out. "Oh, me, oh my. That's rich. That's a scream."
"Pershing," said Mr. Pottle, stoutly, "Audacious Indomitable. You ought to see his pedigree."
"I'd like to," said Mr. Meacham, "I certainly would like to."
He was studying the architecture of Pershing with the cool appraising eye of the expert. His eye rested for a long time on the short legs and long body.
"Pottle," he said, thoughtfully, "haven't they got a dachshund up at those there kennels?"
Mr. Pottle knitted perplexed brows.
"I believe they have," he said. "Why?"
"Oh, nothing," replied Mr. Meacham, struggling to keep a grip on his emotions which threatened to choke him, "Oh, nothing." And he went off, with Mr. Pottle staring at his shoulder blades which titillated oddly as Mr. Meacham walked.