“The fellow Julius! Why, Julius is the dog!”
The major rose from his seat in agitation, and stood before his friend.
“Forrester,” said he solemnly, “as soon as I see the joke I’ll laugh. Meanwhile tell me this. Who in the name of mystery is it who feels his anomalous position at Wildtree, the man or the dog?”
Captain Forrester held gallantly on to his chair to prevent falling off; and the native without, hearing his shouts, looked in at the door to see what the sahib wanted.
“My dear fellow,” said he at last, “I begin to think I know more than you. Can’t you see this daughter of yours is decidedly interested in this young protégé of her uncle?”
“Most decidedly I see that.”
“And that in order to throw dust in your fatherly old eyes, she makes a great gush about the dog Julius, and says hardly a word about the master, whose name does not appear.”
Major Atherton took up the letter again and glanced through it, and a light began to break on his puzzled countenance.
“Then,” said he, “the fellow who’s handsome and clever and a perfect darling is—”
“Is the bow-wow. And the fellow who’s hunted-looking and not allowed in the drawing-room is his master.”