the little black dachshund came trotting to sniff at the spilt soda and
rasp the wet floor with her bright tongue.

At the end of September he shut up the soda fountain gladly, piling it
high with bars of castile soap or cartons of cod liver oil. Then Minna
entered into her glory as the dispenser of hot chocolate which seethed
and sang in a tall silvery tank with a blue gas burner underneath. This
she served in thick china mugs with a clot of whipped cream swimming on
top. Julia would buy a box of the cheese crackers that Schulz kept in
stock specially for her, and give several to the sleek little black
bitch that stood pleading with her quaint turned-out fore-feet placed on
Julia's slippers. Schulz, beaming serenely behind a pyramid of "intense
carnation" bottles on his perfume counter, would chuckle at the antics
of his pet. "Ah, he is a wise little dog!" he would exclaim with naïve
pride. "He knows who is friendly!" He always called the little dog "he,"
which amused us.

On Sunday afternoon the drugstore was closed from one to five, and
during those hours Schulz took his weekly walk, accompanied by the dog
which plodded desperately after him on her short legs. Sometimes we met
him swinging along the by-roads, flourishing a cudgel and humming to
himself. Whenever he saw a motor coming he halted, the little black
dachshund would look up at him, and he would stoop ponderously down,
pick her up and carry her in his arms until all danger was past.

As the time went on he and I used to talk a good deal about the war.
Minna, pale and weary, would stand behind her steaming urn, keeping the
shawl tight round her shoulders; Rhubarb and I would argue without heat
upon the latest news from the war zone. I had no zeal for converting the
old fellow from his views; I understood his sympathies and respected