"How lovely it is here," I said to my host and hostess,
"and how still."
It was at this moment that Weejee, the pet dog, took a
sharp nip at the end of my tennis trousers.
"Weejee!!" exclaimed his mistress with great emphasis,
"BAD dog! how dare you, sir! BAD dog!"
"I hope he hasn't hurt you," said my host.
"Oh, it's nothing," I answered cheerfully. "He hardly
scratched me."
"You know I don't think he means anything by it," said
Mrs. Sopley.
"Oh, I'm SURE he doesn't," I answered.
Weejee was coming nearer to me again as I spoke.
"WEEJEE!!" cried my hostess, "naughty dog, bad!"
"Funny thing about that dog," said Sopley, "the way he
KNOWS people. It's a sort of instinct. He knew right away
that you were a stranger,--now, yesterday, when the
butcher came, there was a new driver on the cart and
Weejee knew it right away,--grabbed the man by the leg
at once,--wouldn't let go. I called out to the man that
it was all right or he might have done Weejee some harm."
At this moment Weejee took the second nip at my other
trouser leg.
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