Part 24 (1/2)
”His points are on the back page,” Captain Middleton said proudly, ”and there isn't a single one a perfect bull-terrier ought to have that William Bloomsbury hasn't got.”
”Is that his name?”
”Yes, but I call him William, only he is of the famous Bloomsbury strain, you know, and one can't help being a bit proud of it.”
”But,” Jan objected, ”if he's so well-bred and perfect, he must be valuable--so why should you want to give him to me?”
”I'll explain,” said Captain Middleton. ”You see, ever since they've been down at Wren's End, my aunt kept him for me. He's been so happy there, Miss Ross, and grown like anything. We're stationed in St. John's Wood just now, you know, and he'd be certain to be stolen if I took him back there. And now my aunt's coming to London to a flat in Buckingham Gate. Now London's no life for a dog--a young dog, anyway--he'd be miserable. I've been down to Wren's End very often for a few days'
hunting, and I can see he's happy as a king there, and we may be ordered anywhere any day ... and I don't want to sell him ... You see, I know if you take him you'll be good to him ... and he _is_ such a nice beast.”
”How do you know I'd be good to him? You know nothing about me.”
”Don't I just! Besides, I've seen you, I'm seeing you now this minute ... I don't want to force him on you, only ... a lady living alone in the country ought to have a dog, and if you take William you won't be sorry--I can promise you that. He's got the biggest heart, and he's the nicest beast ... and the most faithful....”
”Are you sure he'll be quite gentle with the children?”
”He's gentle with everybody, and they're well known to be particularly good with children ... you ask anyone who knows about dogs. He was given me when he was three weeks old, and I could put him in my pocket.”
Captain Middleton was rather appealing just then, so earnest and big and boyish. His face was broad though lean, the features rather blunt, the eyes set wide apart; clear, trustworthy, light-blue eyes. He looked just what he was--a healthy, happy, prosperous young Englishman without a real care in the world. After all, Jan reflected, there was plenty of room at Wren's End, and it was good for the children to grow up with animals.
”I had thought of an Airedale,” she said thoughtfully, ”but----”
”They're good dogs, but quarrelsome--fight all the other dogs round about. Now William isn't a fighter unless he's unbearably provoked, then, of course, he fights to kill.”
”Oh dear!” sighed Jan, ”that's an awful prospect. Think of the trouble with one's neighbours----”
”But I a.s.sure you, it doesn't happen once in a blue moon. I've never known him fight yet.”
”I'll tell you what, Captain Middleton; let me keep him for the present, till you know where you're going to be stationed, and then, if you find you can have him, he's there for you to take. I'll do my best for him, but I want you to feel he's still your dog....”
”It's simply no end good of you, Miss Ross. I'd like you to have him though ... May I put it this way? If you don't like him, find him a nuisance or want to get rid of him, you send for me and I'll fetch him away directly. But if you like him, he's your dog. There--may I leave it at that?”
”We'll try to make him happy, but I expect he'll miss you dreadfully....
I know nothing about bull-terriers; do they need any special treatment?”
”Oh dear, no. William's as strong as a young calf. Just a bone occasionally and any sc.r.a.ps there are. There's tons of his biscuits down there ... only two meals a day and no snacks between, and as much exercise as is convenient--though, mind you, they're easy dogs in that way--they don't need you to be racing about all day like some.”
The present fate of William Bloomsbury with the lengthy and exalted pedigree being settled, Jan asked politely for her tenants, Colonel and Mrs. Walcote, heard that it had been an excellent and open season, and enjoyed her guest's real enthusiasm about Wren's End.
After a few minutes of general conversation he got up to go. She saw him out and rang up the lift, but no lift came. She rang again and again.
Nothing happened. Evidently something had gone wrong, and she saw people walking upstairs to the flats below. Just as she was explaining the mishap to her guest, the telephone bell sounded loudly and persistently.
”Oh dear!” she cried. ”Would you mind very much stopping a young lady with two little children, if you meet them at the bottom of the stairs, and tell her she is on no account to carry up little Fay. It's my friend, Miss Morton; she's out with them, and she's not at all strong; tell her to wait for me. I'll come the minute I've answered this wretched 'phone.”
”Don't you worry, Miss Ross, I'll stop 'em and carry up the kiddies myself,” Captain Middleton called as he started to run down, and Jan went back to answer the telephone.
He ran fast, for Jan's voice had been anxious and distressed. Five long flights did he descend, and at the bottom he met Meg and the children just arrived to hear the melancholy news from the hall porter.
Meg always wheeled little Fay to and from the gardens in the funny little folding ”pram” they had brought from India. The plump baby was a tight fit, but the queer little carriage was light and easily managed.