CHAPTER IX.

The nomad, entering into civilized life, adopts its arts, shaves his
poodle, and puts on a black coat.--Hints at the process by which a
Cast-off exalts himself into a Take-in.

At twilight they stopped at a quiet inn within eight miles of Gatesboro'.
Sophy, much tired, was glad to creep to bed. Waife sat up long after
her; and, in preparation for the eventful morrow, washed and shaved Sir
Isaac. You would not have known the dog again; he was dazzling. Not
Ulysses, rejuvenated by Pallas Athene, could have been more changed for
the better. His flanks revealed a skin most daintily mottled; his tail
became leonine, with an imperial tuft; his mane fell in long curls like
the beard of a Ninevite king; his boots were those of a courtier in the
reign of Charles II.; his eyes looked forth in dark splendour from locks
white as the driven snow. This feat performed, Waife slept the sleep of
the righteous, and Sir Isaac, stretched on the floor beside the bed,
licked his mottled flanks and shivered: "/il faut souffrir pour etre
beau/." Much marvelling, Sophy the next morning beheld the dog; but,
before she was up, Waife had paid the bill and was waiting for her on
the road, impatient to start. He did not heed her exclamation, half
compassionate, half admiring; he was absorbed in thought. Thus they
proceeded slowly on till within two miles of the town, and then Waife
turned aside, entered a wood, and there, with the aid of Sophy, put the
dog upon a deliberate rehearsal of the anticipated drama. The dog was
not in good spirits, but he went through his part with mechanical
accuracy, though slight enthusiasm.