Slyly
observant of this, her companion multiplied his sportive allusions,
and was amused to find Polly grow waspish. Then again he soothed her
with solid flattery; nothing of the kind was too gross for Polly's
appetite. And so conversing they shortened the journey to remote
Dulwich.
With gathered skirts and a fear, partly real but more affected, Miss
Sparkes entered the yard where Gammon's dogs were kept. (As a matter
of fact he shared in their ownership with the landlord of the
public-house, a skilful breeder.) When puppies gambolled about her
she woke the echoes with a scream. From a fine terrier, a "game" dog
whose latest exploit was the killing of a hundred rats in six
minutes, she backed trembling, and even put out a hand to Gammon as
if for protection. Polly's behaviour, indeed, was such as would have
been proper in a fine lady forty years ago, the fashion having
descended to her class just as fashions in costume are wont to do at
a shorter interval. When Gammon begged her to feel the "feather" of
a beautiful collie she at length did so with great timidity, and a
moment after, to show how doggy she was becoming, she spoke of the
"feather" of a little black-and-tan, whereat Gammon smiled broadly.
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