"I'll ask him," I replied, and escaped with that excuse.

When I broke it to the Little Red Doctor, the mildest thing he said to
me was to ask me why I should take him for a dash-binged vet!

Appeals to his curiosity finally overpersuaded him, and now it was my
turn to wait on the bench while he invaded the realm of the Voices.
Happily for me the weather was amiable; it was nearly two hours before
my substitute reappeared. He then tried to sneak away without seeing me.
Balked in this cowardly endeavor, he put on a vague professional
expression and observed that it was an obscure case.

"For a man of sixty," I began, "Mr. Merivale--"

"_Who_?" interrupted the Little Red Doctor; "I'm speaking of the dog."

"Have you, then," I inquired in insinuating accents, "become a
dash-binged vet?"

"A man can't be a brute, can he!" he retorted angrily. "When that
animated mop put up his paws and stuck his tongue out like a child--"

"I know," I said. "You took on a new patient. Probably gratis," I added,
with malice, for this was one of the Little Red Doctor's notoriously
weak points.

"Just the same, he's a fool dog."

"On the contrary, he is a person of commanding intellect and nice social