"For several years we took Rory up to London, but her stay there was always rather a sad one, for when out walking the crossings in the streets were a great source of terror to her. No maiden-aunt could have been more timid. She would never go over by herself, but would either bound forward violently or else hang back, and nearly pull over her guide. She had also a spinsterly objection to hansoms, and never would consent to be driven in one. On the other hand, she delighted in a drive in a 'growler,' and, if the driver were cleaning out his carriage, would often jump in and refuse to be taken out.
"When Rory followed us in London she had a foolish habit of wishing to seem independent of all restraint, and of desiring to appear 'a gentleman at large.'
"On one unfortunate occasion, whilst indulging in this propensity, she was knocked over by a hansom—not badly hurt, but terribly overcome by a sense of the wickedness of the world, where such things could be possible.
"The accident happened in Dover Street. Rory had strayed into the gutter after some tempting morsel she had espied there, and a dashing hansom had bowled her over. She lay yelping and howling and pitying herself intensely. My companion and I succeeded in dragging her into a baker's shop, where she was shown every kindness and consideration, and then we drove home in a four-wheeler. Rory was not much hurt, but for many days could hardly be induced to walk in the streets again. She seemed to be permeated with a sense of the instability and uncertainty of all things, and never appeared able to recover from her surprise that she, 'Rory Bean,' a mastiff of most ancient lineage and of the bluest blood, should not be able to walk about in safety wherever she pleased—even in the streets of the metropolis.
Lost in London
"I recollect we once lost her in London. She made her escape out of the house whilst we had gone for a ride in the park. When we returned from our ride, instead of hearing her joyous bark of welcome, and seeing her flop down in her excitement the last four steps of the staircase, as was her wont, we were met instead by the anxious face of the butler, who told us Rory had run out and could not be found.
"Fortunately, we were not dining out that night, and so, as quickly as possible, we sallied forth in different directions to find her. The police were communicated with, and a letter duly written to the manager of the Dogs' Home at Battersea, whilst my husband and I spent the evening in wandering from police-station to police-station, giving descriptions of the missing favourite.
"Large fawn mastiff, answers to the name of 'Rory Bean,' black face and perfectly gentle. I got quite wearied out in giving over and over again the same account. However, to cut a long story short, she was at last discovered by the butler, who heard her frantic baying a mile off in the centre of Hyde Park, and brought her back, and so ended Rory Bean's last season in London.
"A few days before this escapade I took out Rory in one of the few squares where dogs are still allowed to accompany their masters. Bean had a naïve way, when bored, of inviting you or any casual passer-by that she might chance to see, to a good game of romps with her. Her method was very simple. She would run round barking, but her voice was very deep, as of a voice in some subterranean cavern; and with strangers this did not invariably awaken on their side a joyous reciprocity. Somehow, big dogs always ignore their size.
"They have a confirmed habit of creeping under tiny tables, and hanker after squeezing themselves through impossible gaps. Being, as a rule, quite innocent of all desire to injure any member of the human race, they cannot realise that it is possible that they in their turn can frighten anybody.