In an instant the poodle let the doll drop, then, balancing himself on his haunches, gravely opened his mouth. “He never eats anything except boned turkey,” observed Daisy in answer to her father’s look of displeasure. “Bones are
bad for his teeth.” Then, while her pet was devouring the dainty morsels: “Pa,” she went on, “you haven’t yet admired Rover’s blue ribbon.”
“Umph! he certainly doesn’t look at all like the creature he was when you bought him three years ago,” answered Mr. Goodman.
“Well, pa, this summer I will not go to the White Mountains. Remember!”
“Why not?” inquired Mr. Goodman, who failed to discern any possible connection between the poodle and this charming summer resort.
“Because I want surf-bathing for Rover. I love to throw your cane into the big waves, then see him rush after it and jump up and down in the foam. This season we must go to Long Branch.” Her father made no response, but turned to address a parting word to the superintendent, who presently took leave, highly amused by the child’s bold, pert speeches.
“Now, Daisy, for our drive,” said Mr. Goodman, rising stiffly out of the arm-chair.
But he had only got as far as the door when another visitor was announced. It proved to be a member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals—a society which has already done much good, and whose greatest enemy is the ill-judged zeal of some of its own members.
“What on earth can he want?” thought Mr. Goodman, motioning to the gentleman to take a seat.
“I am come, sir,” began the latter, “to inquire whether you would accept the position of president of our society? We have much to contend with, and gentlemen like yourself—gentlemen of wealth and influence in the community—are needed to assist us.”