There was a short GUR-R-R and a slight
mix-up.
"Weejee! Weejee!" called Mrs. Sopley. "How DARE you,
sir! You're just a BAD dog!! Go and lie down, sir. I'm
so sorry. I think, you know, it's your white trousers.
For some reason Weejee simply HATES white trousers. I do
hope he hasn't torn them."
"Oh, no," I said; "it's nothing only a slight tear."
"Here, Weege, Weege," said Sopley, anxious to make a
diversion and picking up a little chip of wood,--"chase
it, fetch it out!" and he made the motions of throwing
it into the lake.
"Don't throw it too far, Charles," said his wife. "He
doesn't swim awfully well," she continued, turning to
me, "and I'm always afraid he might get out of his depth.
Last week he was ever so nearly drowned. Mr. Van Toy
was in swimming, and he had on a dark blue suit (dark
blue seems simply to infuriate Weejee) and Weejee just
dashed in after him. He don't MEAN anything, you know,
it was only the SUIT made him angry,--he really likes
Mr. Van Toy,--but just for a minute we were quite alarmed.
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