"Under the circumstances," he said abruptly, "it was hardly a--a
judicious thing to do. However, let us say no more about it."
He turned away from her, obviously unsteadied for all his even voice.
And as he turned, his gaze, which had shifted only to get away from
hers, was suddenly arrested and became fixed.
In the corner of the room, beside the bookcase holding the works of
Conant, Willoughby, and Smathers, lay the great pleasure-dog Behemoth,
leonine head sunk upon two massive outstretched paws. But Behemoth was
not asleep; on the contrary he was overlooking the proceedings in the
office with an air of intelligent and paternal interest.
Between Behemoth and young Henry Surface there passed a long look. The
young man walked slowly across the room to where the creature lay, and,
bending down, patted him on the head. He did it with indescribable
awkwardness. Certainly Behemoth must have perceived what was so plain
even to a human critic, that here was the first dog this man had ever
patted in his life. Yet, being a pleasure-dog, he was wholly civil about
it. In fact, after a lidless scrutiny unembarrassed by any recollections
of his last meeting with this young man, he declared for friendship.
Pages:
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683