Mr. Maclin ordered a new doormat every three days, and kept a package
of dog biscuits in the drawer of the library table. He dealt these out
with a lavish hand whenever the little brown dog saw fit to call for
them, and was not without hope that a cultivated taste for dog biscuit
might in time replace a natural one for doormats.
Mr. Maclin would have been glad to make the acquaintance of the
supposed owner of the little brown dog, but didn't quite know how to
go about it.
But one day, as he watched the little brown dog digging as usual in
the geranium bed, he had an inspiration.
He paid a visit to the florist, and came back with a long pasteboard
box tucked under his arm. It was filled with a glowing mass of red
geraniums.
The composition of a suitable note to accompany the flowers was a task
requiring much time and mental effort.
Finally, in sheer desperation, Mr. Maclin wrote on one of his cards,
"To replace the flowers the dog has dug up," and dropped it among the
scarlet blossoms.
He had hesitated between "the dog" and "your dog," but had decided
against the latter, being fearful that it might, perhaps, be construed
as conveying a subtle hint of reproach. Mr. Maclin's lawn also was
defaced by many unsightly holes.
Miss Clementina wondered a little that the article "the" should have
replaced the possessive pronoun "my." But on reflection she decided
that one might not unreasonably object to confessing in so many words
to the possession of a dog who so persistently did all the things he
ought not to do. And, anyway, it was nice of Mr. Maclin to have sent
the flowers.
Miss Clementina wrote a charming note of thanks, and earnestly assured
Mr. Maclin that she didn't object in the least to the little dog's
digging up her lawn.
Mr. Maclin smiled at the _naivete_ of the little note, and tucked it
carefully away in his pocketbook.
Thereafter the two bowed soberly when they chanced to meet, and
occasionally exchanged a casual remark concerning the weather.
And once, when Miss Clementina was picking the dead leaves from what
was left of the geranium plants, Mr. Maclin paused to remark that the
little brown dog seemed very fond of her.
"And of you, too," Miss Clementina had quickly returned. It couldn't
be pleasant, she thought, for Mr. Maclin to feel that his pet had
deserted him for a stranger.
"It's the dog biscuits I give him," Mr. Maclin explained,
confidentially.
"Oh," said Miss Clementina, "is he fond of them? I've always
considered meat much more nourishing."
"I dare say it is," Mr. Maclin agreed. "But dog biscuits are handier
to keep about. And he comes for them so often."
Then, covered with confusion, he beat a hasty retreat. He hadn't
intended to hint at the voracious appetite of Miss Clementina's pet.