Читать книгу The Lucky Number - Major General John Hay Beith - Страница 5

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It was almost dark when the train arrived at our little country station. We set out to walk home by the short cut across the golf-course.

“Anyhow, we have saved five shillings,” remarked Stella.

“We paid half a crown for the taxi which took us back to Victoria Station,” I reminded her.

“Do not argue to-night, darling,” responded my wife. “I simply cannot endure anything more.”

Plainly she was a little unstrung. Very considerately I selected another topic.

“I think our best plan,” I said cheerfully, “would be to advertise for a dog.”

“I never wish to see a dog again,” replied Stella.

I surveyed her with some concern, and said gently:

“I am afraid you are tired, dear.”

“No, I’m not.”

“A little shaken, perhaps?”

“Nothing of the kind. Joe, what is that?”

Stella’s fingers bit deep into my biceps muscle, causing me considerable pain. We were passing a small sheet of water, which guards the thirteenth green on the golf-course. It is a stagnant and unclean pool, but we make rather a fuss of it. We call it the Lake, and if you play a ball into it you send a blasphemous caddie in after it and count one stroke.

A young moon was struggling up over the trees, dismally illuminating the scene. Upon the slimy shores of the pool we beheld a small moving object. A yard behind it was another object, a little smaller, moving at exactly the same pace. One of the objects was emitting sounds of distress.

Abandoning my quaking consort, I advanced to the edge of the pond and leaned down to investigate the mystery.

The leading object proved to be a small, wet, shivering, whimpering puppy. The satellite was a brick. The two were connected by a string. The puppy had just emerged from the depths of the pool, towing the brick behind it.

“What is it, dear?” repeated Stella fearfully.

“Your dog!” I replied, and cut the string.