But Miss Clement hesitated. Her dread of boys was only equaled by
her aversion to dogs. How a civilized person could live in the
same house with a dog she had never been able to understand. Their
manners and customs were unspeakable. And the exuberant vitality
of this dog annoyed her. His joy was unreasoning and intemperate.
He wagged his tail with such energy as to sway his entire person.
Judging from outward vibrations his very soul was wagging. He gave the
impression--to this visitor--of having a frivolous nature. And she
found solace in the thought that, later on, he would be made to realize
that life was a serious thing.
"Is Dr. Alton at home?" she inquired.
"No, ma'am,"
"Do you know when he will return?"
"Oh, very soon! Won't you walk in?" and he stepped aside, holding the
door wide open. At the same time, he waved with his free hand a courtly
gesture toward the interior of the house. Inwardly disturbed by this
unexpected deportment of a barbarian, Miss Clement walked into the
sitting-room and seated herself on a sofa, near the open fire. It was a
large cheerful room with white woodwork and a pale green paper on the
walls, somewhat faded in places near the sunny windows. Scattered over
the large center table were many books and periodicals. On the floor
in front of her was a pair of scissors and a family Bible. The Bible
was open and three of its illustrations, recently extracted, were lying
beside it. The author of this mutilation climbed into a large arm chair
directly opposite, sitting very erect, as if on his best behavior. He
was watching her with undisguised interest and approval.
But the dog was inclined to be familiar. He jammed his nose against
her skirt and ankles and sniffed in a most offensive way. The boy saw
that these things annoyed her and he called off the brute, rebuked him
and apologized to the visitor. "I guess you have a dog, and Zac smells
him."
Miss Clement, with some severity, denied the accusation. "Indeed, I
have no dog." And it was clear from her manner that she had no such
associates.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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