He knew instinctively that Mrs. Bennington
wanted to talk to him about the coming marriage. He determined to tell
her the truth, truth that would set her mother's heart at peace.
Jove ran hither and thither importantly. It was good to be out with
the master. He ran into this yard and that, scared a cat up a tree,
chased the sparrows, and grumbled at the other dogs he saw. All at
once he paused, stiffened, each muscle tense. Warrington, catching the
pose, looked up. A handsome trotter was coming along at a walk. In the
light road-wagon sat a man and a white bulldog. It was easy for
Warrington to recognize McQuade, who in turn knew that this
good-looking young man must be the dramatist. The two glanced at each
other casually. They were unacquainted. Not so the dogs. They had met.
The white bull teetered on the seat. Jove bared his strong teeth. How
he hated that sleek white brute up there! He would have given his life
for one good hold on that broad throat. The white dog was thinking,
too. Some day, when the time came, he would clean the slate. Once he
had almost had the tan for his own.
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