"Very," I said; "his early upbringing gave him a healthy body and a mellow heart. He was born in a brewery, you know, and never tasted water until I flung him into the canal the first day I had him. Since then, as often as he has time, he goes to bathe in the scummiest parts, and then comes and tells me all about it with any amount of circumstantial evidence. Most enthusiastic little swimmer he is." "What a funny dog! But I should never allow him to go out alone--if he were mine, I mean. And what sort of food do you give him?" "Well, he tried to swallow one of my white ties last night." "Oh, but I should give him proper food," she said. "He doesn't hate cats, does he? I couldn't bear a dog that did." My eyes met Martell's for one moment, then I cleared my throat. Slowly and sadly I opened the history of Peter militant, with unacknowledged borrowings from the lives of other Peters with other names. Beginning with cats I had seen in my garden looking as if they felt rather blurred and indistinct, I passed on through cats speechless and perforated, to cats that were. I told sad stories of the deaths of cats. I talked of nights of agonising shrieks, and mornings of guilty eyes and blood-stained lips. My store of reminiscences lasted five minutes, and before Mrs. Martell had recovered from their recitation I pleaded a pressing engagement and took my departure. You will now understand why I count Martell among my friends and am at this moment, as I said before, smoking one of his cigars. It came in a box of a hundred, with the laconic note, "One for each." As I write, my dog and my black kitten are barging in perfect accord all round my legs in pursuit of a brand-new collar with "Peter" printed in big letters. * * * * * [Illustration: A NEW CRAZE. "WHAT A TRAGIC FACE YOU HAVE, MISS POOTLE." "YES, YOU SEE, I _ADORE_ MISERY."] * * * * * Notice outside a station of the Wirral Railway Co.:-- "Loiterers on the Company's premises or annoying passengers will be prosecuted." The passenger who annoys us most and seems worthiest of prosecution is the fifth on our side of the carriage. * * * * * ANNABEL LEE. Up and down on the fresh-ploughed levels, All for the sake of their lady fair, Two cock-partridges fought like devils, Hammer-and-tongs and a hop in the air; And I and "Basket" Annabel Lee-- Elderly tinking gyp is she-- We leaned on the paling and watched it go; And "Eh," said she, "now a fight 'tis cruel, But of all the compliments 'tis the jewel! May I die to-day, but I know, I know There's naught as a young maid's 'eart takes better Than a couple o' big chaps out to get her Through a dozen o' dustin' rounds or so.