small, keen, white head from one tippy angle to another, the little
terrier returned the stare with an expression that was altogether and
unmistakably mirthful. "Oh, it's a jolly little beggar, isn't it?"
said Stanton. "Come here, sir!" Only a suddenly pointed ear
acknowledged the summons. The dog himself did not budge. "Come here, I
say!" Stanton repeated with harsh peremptoriness. Palpably the
little dog winked at him. Then in succession the little dog dodged
adroitly a knife, a spoon, a copy of Browning's poems, and several
other sizable articles from the table close to Stanton's elbow.
Nothing but the dictionary seemed too big to throw. Finally with a
grin that could not be disguised even from the dog, Stanton began to
rummage with eye and hand through the intricate back pages of the
dictionary.

[Illustration: A much-freckled messenger-boy appeared dragging an
exceedingly obstreperous fox-terrier]

"You silly little fool," he said. "Won't you mind unless you are
spoken to by name?"

"Aaron--Abidel--Abel--Abiathar--" he began to read out with petulant
curiosity, "Baldwin--Barachias--Bruno (Oh, hang!) Cadwallader--Cæsar--Caleb
(What nonsense!) Ephraim--Erasmus (How could a girl be named anything like
that!) Gabriel--Gerard--Gershom (Imagine whistling a dog to the name of
Gershom!) Hannibal--Hezekiah--Hosea (Oh, Hell!)" Stolidly with unheedful,
drooping ears the little fox-terrier resumed his seat on the rug.
"Ichabod--Jabez--Joab," Stanton's voice persisted, experimentally. By nine
o'clock, in all possible variations of accent and intonation, he had quite
completely exhausted the alphabetical list as far as "K." and the little
dog was blinking himself to sleep on the far side of the room. Something