“Has Timothy had a fit?”
Dear Swithin—he was so droll!
“Not yet,” said Aunt Hester, who was sometimes almost naughty.
“Well, he will. Here, Juley, don’t stand there stuck. Bring the dog out, and let’s have a look at it. Dog! Why, it’s a bitch!”
This curiously male word, though spoken with distinction, caused a sensation such as would have accompanied a heavy fall of soot. The dog had been assumed by all to be of the politer sex, because of course one didn’t notice such things. Aunt Juley, indeed, whom past association with Septimus Small had rendered more susceptible, had conceived her doubts, but she had continued to be on the polite side.
“A bitch,” repeated Swithin; “you’ll have no end of trouble with it.”
“That is what we fear,” said Aunt Ann, “though I don’t think you should call it that in a drawing-room, dear.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” said Swithin. “Come here, little tyke!”
And he stretched out a ringed hand smelling of dogskin—he had driven himself round in his phaeton.
Encouraged by Aunt Juley, the little dog approached, and sat cowering under the hand. Swithin lifted it by the ruff round its neck.
“Well-bred,” he said, putting it down.
“We can’t keep it,” said Aunt Ann, firmly. “The carpets—we thought—the Police Station.”
“If I were you,” said Swithin, “I’d put a notice in The Times: ‘Found, white Pomeranian bitch. Apply, The Nook, Bayswater Road.’ You might get a reward. Let’s look at its teeth.”
The little dog, who seemed in a manner fascinated by the smell of Swithin’s hand and the stare of his round china-blue eyes, put no obstacle in the way of fingers that raised its upper and depressed its lower lip.
“It’s a puppy,” said Swithin. “Loo, loo, little tyke!”
This terrible incentive caused the dog to behave in a singular manner; depressing its tail so far as was possible, it jumped sideways and scurried round Aunt Hester’s chair, then crouched with its chin on the ground, its hindquarters and tail in the air, looking up at Swithin with eyes black as boot-buttons.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Swithin, “if it was worth money. Loo, loo!”
This time the little dog scurried round the entire room, avoiding the legs of chairs by a series of miracles, then, halting by a marqueterie stand, it stood on its hind legs and began to eat the pampas grass.
“Ring, Hester!” said Aunt Ann. “Ring for Smither. Juley, stop it!”
Swithin, whose imperial was jutting in a fixed smile, said:
“Where’s Timothy? I should like to see it bite his legs.”
Aunt Juley, moved by maternal spasms, bent down and picked the dog up in her arms. She stood, pouting over its sharp nose and soft warm body, like the very figure of daring with the smell of soft soap in its nostrils.
“I will take it downstairs myself,” she said; “it shan’t be teased. Come, Pommy!”
The dog, who had no say whatever in the matter, put out a pink strip of tongue and licked her nose. Aunt Juley had the exquisite sensation of being loved; and, hastily, to conceal her feelings, bore it lolling over her arm away. She bore it upstairs, instead of down, to her room which was at the back of dear Ann’s, and stood, surrounded by mahogany, with the dog still in her arms. Every hand was against her and the poor dog, and she squeezed it tighter. It was panting, and every now and then with its slip of a tongue it licked her cheek, as if to assure itself of reality. Since the departure of Septimus Small ten years ago, she had never been properly loved, and now that something was ready to love her, they wanted to take it away. She sat down on her bed, still holding the dog, while below, they would be talking of how to send Pommy to the Police Station or put her into the papers! Then, noticing that white hairs were coming off on to her, she put the dog down. It sidled round the room, sniffing, till it came to the washstand, where it stood looking at her and panting. What DID it want? Wild thoughts passed through Aunt Juley’s mind, till suddenly the dog stood on its hind legs and licked the air. Why, it was thirsty! Disregarding the niceties of existence, Aunt Juley lifted the jug, and set it on the floor. For some minutes there was no sound but lapping. Could it really hold all that? The little dog looked up at her, moved its tail twice, then trotted away to inspect the room more closely. Having inspected everything except Aunt Juley, concerning whom its mind was apparently made up, it lay down under the valance of the dressing table, with its head and forepaws visible, and uttered a series of short spasmodic barks. Aunt Juley understood them to mean: ‘Come and play with me!’ And taking her sponge-bag, she dangled it. Seizing it—So unexpected!—the little dog shook it violently. Aunt Juley was at once charmed and horrified. It was evidently feeling quite at home; but her poor bag! Oh! its little teeth WERE sharp and strong! Aunt Juley swelled. It was as if she didn’t care what happened to the bag so long as the little dog were having a good time. The bag came to an end; and gathering up the pieces, she thought defiantly: ‘Well, it’s not as if I ever went to Brighton now!’ But she said severely:
“You see what you’ve done!” And, together, they examined the pieces, while Aunt Juley’s heart took a resolution. They might talk as they liked: Finding was keeping; and if Timothy didn’t like it, he could lump it! The sensation was terrific. Someone, however, was knocking on the door.
“Oh! Smither,” said Aunt Juley, “you see what the little dog has done?” And she held up the sponge-bag defiantly.
“Aoh!” said Smither; “its teeth ARE sharp. Would you go down, ma’am? Mr. and Mrs. James Forsyte are in the drawing-room. Shall I take the little dog now? I daresay it’d like a run.”
“Not to the Police Station, Smither. I found it, and I’m going to keep it.”
“I’m sure, Ma’am. It’ll be company for me and Cook, now that Tommy’s gone. It’s took quite a fancy to us.”
With a pang of jealousy Aunt Juley said: “I take all the responsibility. Go with Smither, Pommy!”
Caught up in her arms, the little dog lolled its head over the edge of Smither and gazed back sentimentally as it was borne away. And, again, all that was maternal in Aunt Juley swelled, beneath the dark violet of her bosom sprinkled with white hairs.
“Say I am coming down.” And she began plucking off the white hairs.
Outside the drawing-room door she paused; then went in, weak at the knees. Between his Dundreary whiskers James was telling a story. His long legs projected so that she had to go round; his long lips stopped to say:
“How are you, Juley? They tell me you’ve found a dog,” and resumed the story. It was all about a man who had been bitten and had insisted on being cauterised until he couldn’t sit down, and the dog hadn’t been mad after all, so that it was all wasted, and that was what came of dogs. He didn’t know what use they were except to make a mess.
Emily said: “Pomeranians are all the rage. They look so amusing in a carriage.”
Aunt Hester murmured that Jolyon had an Italian greyhound at Stanhope Gate.
“That snippetty whippet!” said Swithin—perhaps the first use of the term: “There’s no body in THEM.”
“You’re not going to KEEP this dog?” said James. “You don’t know what it might have.”
Very red, Aunt Juley said sharply: “Fiddle-de-dee, James!”
“Well, you might have an action brought against you. They tell me there’s a Home for Lost Dogs. Your proper course is to turn it out.”
“Turn out your grandmother!” snapped Aunt Juley; she was not afraid of James.
“Well, it’s not your property. You’ll be getting up against the Law.”
“Fiddle the Law!”
This epoch-making remark was received in silence. Nobody knew what had come to Juley.
“Well,” said James, with finality, “don’t say I didn’t tell you. What does Timothy say—he’ud have a fit.”
“If he wants to have a fit, he must,” said Aunt Juley. “I shan’t stop him.”