“Oh,” said Miss Clementina, “is he fond of them? I’ve always considered meat much more nourishing.”
“I dare say it is,” Mr. Maclin agreed. “But dog biscuits are handier to keep about. And he comes for them so often.”
Then, covered with confusion, he beat a hasty retreat. He hadn’t intended to hint at the voracious appetite of Miss Clementina’s pet.
IV.
Miss Clementina looked with dismay at the much battered object the little brown dog had just brought in and laid at her feet. It was all that remained of Mr. Maclin’s best Panama hat.
Miss Clementina picked it up gingerly. She crossed the strip of lawn between the two houses and rang her neighbor’s doorbell.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, extending the hat to its owner. “It’s really too bad of the little dog.”
“It’s of not the very slightest consequence,” returned Mr. Maclin, gallantly.
“Oh, but I think it is,” Miss Clementina insisted. “He’s a very bad little dog, really. Don’t you think perhaps you ought to whip him—not hard, but just enough to make him remember?”
“Whip him! Whip your dog! My dear Miss Liddell, I couldn’t think of such a thing.”