"Mr. Austin is a brute to treat you in this manner," she cried
indignantly.

"I wouldn't treat a dog as he is treating me."

"Oh, I am sure you couldn't," she cried in perfect sincerity. "Swallow
doesn't like me, but I'll try to get him away. You can't stay up there
all night."

"By Jove!" he exclaimed sharply.

"What is it?" she asked quickly.

"I had forgotten an engagement in Chicago for to-night. Box party at the
comic opera," he said, looking nervously at his watch.

"It would be too bad if you missed it," she said sweetly. "You'd be much
more comfortable in a box."

"You are consoling at least. Are you going to coax him off?"

"In behalf of the box party, I'll try. Come, Swallow. There's a nice
doggie!"

Crosby watched the proceedings with deepest interest and concern and not
a little admiration. But not only did Swallow refuse to abdicate but he
seemed to take decided exceptions to the feminine method of appeal. He
evidently did not like to be called "doggie," "pet," "dearie," and all
such.