"And I've bought such a sweet little collar for him," she said, "with 'Peter' printed in big letters."
I remembered then that the original dog was in daily danger of being arrested, his very aged collar having been chewed to pulp after his last castigation therewith.
"And a dear little pair of soft slippers, one for him to play with, and the other to smack him with if he's ever naughty, although I don't think he could be—your Peter, I mean. Have you slippers for him?"
"Well, not a pair," I said, "and not exactly slippers. One's a golf-ball, the other's more in the nature of a boot."
"Oh, but he 's such a sweet-tempered little creature, isn't he?"
I felt Martell's eye upon, me.
"Very," I said; "his early upbringing gave him a healthy body and a mellow heart. He was born in a brewery, you know, and never tasted water until I flung him into the canal the first day I had him. Since then, as often as he has time, he goes to bathe in the scummiest parts, and then comes and tells me all about it with any amount of circumstantial evidence. Most enthusiastic little swimmer he is."
"What a funny dog! But I should never allow him to go out alone—if he were mine, I mean. And what sort of food do you give him?"
"Well, he tried to swallow one of my white ties last night."
"Oh, but I should give him proper food," she said. "He doesn't hate cats, does he? I couldn't bear a dog that did."