"Good afternoon," he said.
Why I was not astonished to be thus addressed by a pug dog, I cannot
say; but it seemed perfectly natural.
"Good afternoon," I replied.
"It's a long time," he said, "since you saw any of my kind, I expect?"
"Now I come to think of it," I replied, "it is. How is that?"
"There's a reason," he said. "Put in a nutshell it's this: Peeks." He
wheezed horribly.
I asked him to be more explicit, and he amplified his epigram into:
"Pekingese."
"They're all the rage now," he explained; "and we're out in the cold. If
you throw your memory back a dozen years or so," he went on, "you will
recall our popularity."
As he spoke I did so. In the mind's eye I saw a sumptuous
carriage-and-pair. The horses bristled with mettle. The carriage was on
C-springs, and a coachman and footman were on the box. They wore claret
livery and cockades. The footman's arms were folded. His gloves were of
a dazzling whiteness. In the carriage was an elderly commanding lady
with an aristocratic nose; and in her lap was a pug dog of plethoric
habit and a face as black as your hat.
All the time my new acquaintance was watching me with streaming eyes.
"What do you see?" he asked.