"I still do, Ambrose, despite all."
"You conceal it well. That mutt takes all your time."
"Mutt, Ambrose?"
"Mutt," said Mr. Pottle.
"See! He's heard you," she cried. "Look at that hurt expression in his face."
"Bah," said Mr. Pottle. "When do we begin to get fifty dollars per pup. I could use the money. Isn't it about time this great hulking creature did something to earn his keep? He's got the appetite of a lion."
"Don't mind the nassy mans, Pershing. We're not a mutt, are we, Pershing? Ambrose, please don't say such things in his presence. It hurts him dreadfully. Mutt, indeed. Just look at those big, gentle, knowing eyes."
"Look at those legs, woman," said Mr. Pottle.
He despondently sipped his black coffee.
"Blossom," he said. "I'm going to Chicago to-night. Got to have a conference with the men who are dickering with me about manufacturing my shaving cream. I'll be gone three days and I'll be busy every second."