he must be friendly and hopeful to have followed such companions so far.

"Will you be our dog?" said Peter to him. "Will you come walking with us
in future, and have a little bit of whatever we get? And shall we call
you San Francesco, because you like disreputable people and love your
brother, the sun, and keep company with your little sisters, the fleas?
Very good, then. This is Thomas, and you may lick his face very gently,
but remember that he is smaller than you and has to be tenderly treated
lest he break."

San Francesco stayed with them through the afternoon, and accompanied
them back to London, smuggled under a seat, because Peter couldn't afford
a ticket for him. He proved a likeable being on further acquaintance,
with a merry grin and an amused cock of the eye; obviously one who took
the world's vagaries with humorous patience. Peter conveyed him from
Paddington to Mary Street with some difficulty, and bought a bone for him
from a cat's-meat-what-orfers man, and took him up to the bright and
beautiful sitting-room. Then he told his landlady that he was about to
leave her.

"It isn't that I'm not satisfied, you know," he added, fearing to hurt
her, "but I'm going to give up lodgings altogether. I'm going abroad, to
Italy, on Monday."

"_I_ see." Mrs. Baker saw everything in a moment. Her young gentleman had
obviously been over-spending his income (all these new things must have
cost a pretty penny), and had discovered, what many discover, that flight
was the only remedy.

"About the rent," she began, "and the bills ..."