"
"I lost it, walking in my sleep," said The Author, disagreeably.
"And now he's trying to make us believe that the design in the
brick-work above our windows, just because it's the Greek fret, is
Hellen's Keye," Alicia said, jestingly.
"Well, you know, if a thing means _anything_, it's got to mean
_something_," put in Mr. Johnson.
"Ain't it the truth, though?" hissed The Author, with fury.
Mr. Johnson was saved from stammering explanations by the irruption
of Beautiful Dog, who at sound of his voice had wriggled, and
cringed, and fawned his way out of the shrubbery, cocking a wary eye
to see that none of the Black family was around. Beautiful Dog
rolled his eyes at his god, swung his tail, waggled his ears, made
uncouth movements with his splay feet, and grinned from ear to ear.
He was so utterly absurd that he claimed everybody's amused
attention.
"Why, old chap! You're rather glad to see your friends, aren't you?"
the secretary said in his pleasant voice.
Beautiful Dog yelped with rapture, darted back into the shrubbery,
and a moment later emerged and laid at his adored one's feet all his
treasure, a chewed slipper.
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