If Mr. Van Toy hadn't carried Weejee in I think he might
have been drowned.
"By jove!" I said in a tone to indicate how appalled I
was.
"Let me throw the stick, Charles," continued Mrs. Sopley.
"Now, Weejee, look Weejee--here, good dog--look! look
now (sometimes Weejee simply won't do what one wants),
here, Weejee; now, good dog!"
Weejee had his tail sideways between his legs and was
moving towards me again.
"Hold on," said Sopley in a stern tone, "let me throw
him in."
"Do be careful, Charles," said his wife.
Sopley picked Weejee up by the collar and carried him to
the edge of the water--it was about six inches deep,--and
threw him in,--with much the same force as, let us say,
a pen is thrown into ink or a brush dipped into a pot of
varnish.
"That's enough; that's quite enough, Charles," exclaimed
Mrs. Sopley. "I think he'd better not swim. The water in
the evening is always a little cold. Good dog, good
doggie, good Weejee!"
Meantime "good Weejee" had come out of the water and was
moving again towards me.
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