Wherever we went in America, the hotel people wanted to get rid of the dog. In the paper they had it that Miss Terry asserted that Fussie was a little terrier, while the hotel people regarded him as a pointer; and funny caricatures were drawn of a very big me with a very tiny dog, and a very tiny me with a dog the size of an elephant. Henry often walked straight out of an hotel where an objection was made to Fussie. If he wanted to stay, he went in for strategy. At Detroit the manager of the hotel said that dogs were against the rules. Being very tired, Henry let Fussie go to the stables for the night, and sent Walter to look after him. The next morning he sent for the manager. "Yours is a very old-fashioned hotel, isn't it?" "Yes, sir, very old and ancient." "Got a good chef? I didn't think much of the supper last night--but still--the beds are comfortable enough--I am afraid you don't like animals?" "Yes, sir, in their proper place." "It's a pity," said Henry meditatively, "because you happen to be overrun by rats!" "Sir, you must have made a mistake. Such a thing couldn't----" "Well, I couldn't pass another night here without my dog," Henry interrupted. "But there are, I suppose, other hotels?" "If it would be any comfort to you to have your dog with you, sir, do, by all means, but I assure you that he'll catch no rat here." "I'll be on the safe side," said Henry calmly. And so it was settled. That very night Fussie supped off, not rats, but terrapin and other delicacies in Henry's private sitting room. [Illustration: _Photograph by Sarony_ AUGUSTIN DALY] It was the 1888 tour, the great blizzard year, that Fussie was left behind by mistake at Southampton. He jumped out at the station, just outside where they stopped to collect tickets. After this long separation, Henry naturally thought that the dog would go nearly mad with joy when he saw him again. He described to me the meeting in a letter: "My dear Fussie gave me a terrible shock on Sunday night. When we got in, J----, H----, and I dined at the Cafe Royale. I told Walter to bring Fussie there. He did, and Fussie burst into the room while the waiter was cutting some mutton, when, what d'ye think--one bound at me--another instantaneous bound at the mutton, and from the mutton nothing would get him until he'd got his plateful. "Oh what a surprise it was indeed! He never now will leave my side, my legs, or my presence, but I cannot but think, alas, of that seductive piece of mutton!" _The Death of Fussie_