“Attend an instant; your poodle, was he ‘ighly train, had he some talents—a dog viz tricks, eh?”
“No, he’s not,” said the colonel; “I don’t like to see dogs taught to play the fool; there’s none of that nonsense about him, sir!”
“Ah, remark him well, then. Azor, mon chou, danse donc un peu!”
And, on the foreigner’s whistling a lively air, that infernal poodle rose on his hind legs and danced solemnly about half-way round the garden! We inside followed his movements with dismay.
“Why, dash it all!” cried the disgusted colonel, “he’s dancing along like a d—d mountebank! But it’s my Bingo, for all that!”
“You are not convince? You shall see more. Azor, ici! Pour Beesmarck, Azor!” (the poodle barked ferociously.) “Pour Gambetta!” (He wagged his tail and began to leap with joy.) “Meurs pour la patrie!” And the too accomplished animal rolled over as if killed in battle!
“Where could Bingo have picked up so much French?” cried Lilian, incredulously.
“Or so much French history?” added that serpent, Travers.
“Shall I command ‘im to jump, or reverse ‘imself?” inquired the obliging Frenchman.
“We’ve seen that, thank you,” said the colonel, gloomily. “Upon my word, I don’t know what to think. It can’t be that that’s not my Bingo after all—I’ll never believe it!”