Part 12 (1/2)
Pritchard replied, 'You could quite well, with management, make them believe you are the neighbour's dog, and after two or three days, n.o.body would know you did not belong to the house. You might live here just as well as those idle useless monkeys, who do nothing but amuse themselves, or that greedy vulture, who eats tripe all day long, or that idiot of a macaw, who is always screaming about nothing.'
The dog stayed, keeping in the background at first, but in a day or two he jumped up upon me and followed me everywhere, and there was another guest to feed, that was all. Michel asked me one day if I knew how many dogs there were about the place. I answered that I did not.
'Sir,' said Michel, 'there are thirteen.'
'That is an unlucky number, Michel; you must see that they do not all dine together, else one of them is sure to die first.'
'It is not that, though,' said Michel, 'it is the expense I am thinking of. Why, they would eat an ox a day, all those dogs; and if you will allow me, sir, I will just take a whip and put the whole pack to the door, to-morrow morning.'
'But, Michel, let us do it handsomely. These dogs, after all, do honour to the house by staying here. So give them a grand dinner to-morrow; tell them that it is the farewell banquet, and then, at dessert, put them all to the door.'
'But after all, sir, I cannot put them to the door, because there isn't a door.'
'Michel,' said I, 'there are certain things in this world that one must just put up with, to keep up one's character and position. Since all these dogs have come to me, let them stay with me. I don't think they will ruin me, Michel. Only, on their own account, you should be careful that there are not thirteen.'
'I will drive away one,' suggested Michel, 'and then there will only be twelve.'
'On the contrary, let another come, and then there will be fourteen.'
Michel sighed.
'It's a regular kennel,' he murmured.
It was, in fact, a pack of hounds, though rather a mixed one. There was a Russian wolfhound, there was a poodle, a water spaniel, a spitz, a dachshund with crooked legs, a mongrel terrier, a mongrel King Charles, and a Turkish dog which had no hair on its body, only a tuft upon its head and a ta.s.sel at the end of its tail. Our next recruit was a little Maltese terrier, named Lisette, which raised the number to fourteen. After all, the expense of these fourteen amounted to rather over two pounds a month. A single dinner given to five or six of my own species would have cost me three times as much, and they would have gone away dissatisfied; for, even if they had liked my wine, they would certainly have found fault with my books. Out of this pack of hounds, one became Pritchard's particular friend and Michel's favourite. This was a dachshund with short crooked legs, a long body, and, as Michel said, the finest voice in the department of Seine-et-Oise. Portugo--that was his name--had in truth a most magnificent ba.s.s voice. I used to hear it sometimes in the night when I was writing, and think how that deep-toned majestic bark would please St. Hubert if he heard it in his grave. But what was Portugo doing at that hour, and why was he awake while the other dogs slumbered? This mystery was revealed one day, when a stewed rabbit was brought me for dinner. I inquired where the rabbit came from.
'You thought it good, sir?' Michel asked me with a pleased face.
'Excellent.'
'Well, then, you can have one just the same every day, sir, if you like.'
[Ill.u.s.tration: 'IT'S A REGULAR KENNEL']
'Every day, Michel? Surely that is almost too much to promise.
Besides, I should like, before consuming so many rabbits, to know where they come from.'
'You shall know that this very night, if you don't mind coming out with me.'
'Ah! Michel, I have told you before that you are a poacher!'
'Oh, sir, as to that, I am as innocent as a baby--and, as I was saying, if you will only come out with me to-night--'
'Must I go far, Michel?'
'Not a hundred yards, sir.'
'At what o'clock?'
'Just at the moment when you hear Portugo's first bark.'