Stories by English Authors: London (Selected by Scribners)
General
Stories by English Authors: London (Selected by Scribners)
London (England) -- Fiction; Short stories, English
He was a coal-black poodle, with half of his right ear gone, and absurd
little thick moustaches at the end of his nose; he was shaved in the
shamlion fashion, which is considered, for some mysterious reason, to
improve a poodle, but the barber had left sundry little tufts of hair,
which studded his haunches capriciously.
I could not help being reminded, as I looked at him, of another black
poodle, which Faust entertained for a short time with unhappy results,
and I thought that a very moderate degree of incantation would be enough
to bring the fiend out of this brute.
He made me intensely uncomfortable, for I am of a slightly nervous
temperament, with a constitutional horror of dogs, and a liability to
attacks of diffidence on performing the ordinary social rites under
the most favourable conditions, and certainly the consciousness that a
strange and apparently savage dog was engaged in worrying the heels of
my boots was the reverse of reassuring.
The Currie family received me with all possible kindness. “So charmed to
make your acquaintance, Mr. Weatherhead,” said Mrs. Currie, as I shook
hands. “I see,” she added, pleasantly, “you’ve brought the doggie in
with you.” As a matter of fact, I had brought the doggie in at the
ends of my coat-tails; but it was evidently no unusual occurrence for
visitors to appear in this undignified manner, for she detached him
quite as a matter of course, and as soon as I was sufficiently collected
we fell into conversation.
I discovered that the colonel and his wife were childless, and the
slender willowy figure I had seen across the garden wall was that of
Lilian Roseblade, their niece and adopted daughter. She came into the
room shortly afterward, and I felt, as I went through the form of an
introduction, that her sweet, fresh face, shaded by soft masses of
dusky-brown hair, more than justified all the dreamy hopes and fancies
with which I had looked forward to that moment.
She talked to me in a pretty, confidential, appealing way, which I
have heard her dearest friends censure as childish and affected; but I
thought then that her manner had an indescribable charm and fascination
about it, and the memory of it makes my heart ache now with a pang that
is not all pain.
Even before the colonel made his appearance I had begun to see that my
enemy, the poodle, occupied an exceptional position in that household.
It was abundantly clear by the time I took my leave.
He seemed to be the centre of their domestic system, and even lovely
Lilian revolved contentedly around him as a kind of satellite; he
could do no wrong in his owner’s eyes, his prejudices (and he was
a narrow-minded animal) were rigorously respected, and all domestic
arrangements were made with a primary view to his convenience.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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