"I am afraid you are tired, dear."
"No; I'm not."
"A little shaken, perhaps?"
"Nothing of the kind. Joe, what is that?"
Stella's fingers bit deep into my biceps muscle, causing me considerable
pain. We were passing a small sheet of water which guards the thirteenth
green on the golf course. It is a stagnant and unclean pool, but we make
rather a fuss of it. We call it the pond; and if you play a ball into it
you send a blasphemous caddie in after it and count one stroke.
A young moon was struggling up over the trees, dismally illuminating
the scene. On the slimy shores of the pond we beheld a small moving
object.
A yard behind it was another object, a little smaller, moving at exactly
the same pace. One of the objects was emitting sounds of distress.
Abandoning my quaking consort I advanced to the edge of the pond and
leaned down to investigate the mystery.
The leading object proved to be a small, wet, shivering, whimpering
puppy. The satellite was a brick. The two were connected by a string.
The puppy had just emerged from the depths of the pond, towing the brick
behind it.
"What is it, dear?" repeated Stella fearfully.
"Your dog!" I replied, and cut the string.