Читать книгу Anthony Lyveden - Yates Dornford - Страница 9

I am sorry to inform you that your Sealyham has contracted distemper. There is at present no reason to think that he will be seriously ill, and, the veterinary surgeon is quite satisfied with his condition.

Yours faithfully, N. DAWES, Supt.

Anthony stared at the sheet as it had been a death-warrant. It must be remembered that Patch was all that he had in the world.

The second footman, who had been perusing a postcard addressed to the Marchioness, placed the missive upon the top of his mistress's letters and fell to whistling softly between his teeth. When he glanced round to see Anthony so still, he stopped his fluting in the midst of a bar.

"Wot's up, mate?" he said eagerly. "'Ad some bad noos?"

Anthony folded the sheet and put a hand to his head.

"My little dog's ill," he said. "He's down in the country, and—it's rather worrying."

The other looked at him curiously. Then—

"That's the worst o' dawgs," he said sagely. "Yer goes an' gets fon' of 'em, an' then they gets run over, or dies, or somethin'. Cats is the same. My sister's little gurl 'ad a kitten with one eye. Thort the world o' that cat, she did. 'Adn't got no use fer dolls nor nothin'. 'Moses,' she called it. One day a bull-terrier does it in." He paused dramatically, raising his eyes to heaven with an air of reminiscent resignation which spoke volumes. "Me sister thort the kid'd go aout of 'er mine. In the en' they 'ad to send 'er away."

Anthony listened to the anecdote with what politeness he could, hoping desperately that time would prove its irrelevance.

"Poor little girl," he said quietly.

"But she got over it orright, mate. Same as wot you will. You see.

'Sides," he added, with the gesture of one who adduces a still stronger

argument, "'e ain't dead yet. Don't you meet trouble 'alf-way, mate.

It ain't good enough."

For this philosophy there was much to be said, and Anthony did his best to practise it. When he had sent a telegram, asking to be informed daily of his dog's progress, and advised by wire or telephone if there was any danger, he felt more comfortable. The day, however, dragged heavily. …

Happily Lord Pomfret made few demands upon his patience. For all that, his lordship had formed a new habit, which Anthony—partly because he was preoccupied, partly because he had but two eyes—failed to observe. This was a pity, for while it was not a pretty habit, it happened to concern Anthony pretty closely. The trick was this. So often as he and Lyveden were in the same room, his lordship's watery eyes would follow the footman wheresoever he moved.

It may be urged that a cat may look at a king. True.

But if a cat were detected in the act of looking at a king as Lord Pomfret Fresne had come to look at Anthony Lyveden, it is safe to predict not only that the animal would be afforded no further opportunity of inspecting his majesty, but that in about two minutes he would, like poor Moses, be put to sleep with his fathers.

* * * * *

By the same post which so discomfited Anthony, came to Miss Valerie

French two letters, one at least of which must be set out.

c/o Joseph Bumble, Esq., The Shrubbery, Hawthorne.