front door just like it was a public-house or a veterinary's. They
were the biggest St. Bernards I ever did see. I could have walked
under them if they'd have let me. But they were very proud and
haughty dogs, and looked only once at me, and then sniffed in the
air. The little lady's own dog was an old gentleman bull-dog. He'd
come along with us, and when he notices how taken aback I was with
all I see, 'e turned quite kind and affable and showed me about.

"Jimmy Jocks," Miss Dorothy called him, but, owing to his weight, he
walked most dignified and slow, waddling like a duck as you might
say, and looked much too proud and handsome for such a silly name.

"That's the runway, and that's the Trophy House," says he to me, "and
that over there is the hospital, where you have to go if you get
distemper, and the vet. gives you beastly medicine."

"And which of these is your 'ouse, sir?" asks I, wishing to be
respectful. But he looked that hurt and haughty. "I don't live in the
kennels," says he, most contemptuous. "I am a house-dog. I sleep in
Miss Dorothy's room. And at lunch I'm let in with the family, if the
visitors don't mind. They most always do, but they're too polite to
say so. Besides," says he, smiling most condescending, "visitors are
always afraid of me. It's because I'm so ugly," says he. "I suppose,"
says he, screwing up his wrinkles and speaking very slow and
impressive, "I suppose I'm the ugliest bull-dog in America," and as
he seemed to be so pleased to think hisself so, I said, "Yes, sir,
you certainly are the ugliest ever I see," at which he nodded his
head most approving.

"But I couldn't hurt 'em, as you say," he goes on, though I hadn't