Peggy, shaken by the rude grip and the kiss, flashed and cried rebelliously:
“I’m not quite so sure that I want to fix it up with Oliver.”
“Oh yes, you do,” cried Oliver.
He snatched up Doggie’s cap and jammed it on Doggie’s head and cried:
“Doggie, you’re the best and truest and finest of dear old chaps in the whole wide world.”
Doggie settled his cap, grinned, and moved to the door.
“Anything else, sir?”
Oliver roared, delighted: “No, Private Trevor, you can go.”
“Very good, sir.”
Doggie saluted smartly and went out. He passed through the French window of the dining-room into the mellow autumn sunshine. Found himself standing in front of Chipmunk, who still smoked the pipe of elegant leisure by the door of the garage.