14

"Look at that coat.Some coat.

That's a dog that'll never bother you with catching cold.""I think it's cute,"said Mrs.Wilson enthusiastically

"How much is it?"

"That dog?"He looked at it admiringly

"That dog will cost you ten dollars."The Airedaleundoubtedly there was an Airedale concerned in itsomewhere,though its feet were startlingly whitechanged hands and settled down into Mrs.Wilson's lap,where she fondled the weather-proof coat with rapture.

"Is it a boy or a girl?"she asked delicately

"That dog?That dog's a boy."

"It's a bitch."said Tom decisively.

"Here's your money.Go and buy ten more dogs with it."We drove over to Fifth Avenue,so warm and soft,almost pastoral,on the summer Sunday afteroon that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a great flock ofwhite sheep turn the comer.

"Hold on."I said."I have to leave you here.""No.you don't."interposed Tom quickly.

"Myrtle'll be hurt if you don't come up to the apartment.Won't you.Myrtle?"

"Come on."she urged.

"I'll telephone my sister Catherine.She's said to be very beautiful by people who ought to know."

"Well,I'd like to,but-."We went on.cutting back again over the Park toward the West Hundreds.At 158th

Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of apartment-houses.Throwing a regal homecomingglance around the neighborhood.Mrs.Wilson gathered up her dog and her other purchases,and wenthaughtily in.

"I'm going to have the McKees come up,"she announced as we rose in the elevator.

"And,of course.I got to call up my sister,too."The apartment was on the top floora small living-room,asmall dining-room,a small bedroom,and a bath.The living-room was crowded to the doors with a set oftapestried furiture entirely too large for it.so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes ofladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles.The only picture was an over-enlarged photograph,apparently ahen sitting on a blurred rock.Looked at from a distance,however,the hen resolved itself into a bonnet,andthe countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the room.Several old copies of "Town Tattle."lay onthe table together with a copy of "Simon Called Peter,"and some of the small scandal magazines of

Broadway.Mrs.Wilson was first concerned with the dog.A reluctant elevator-boy went for a box full ofstraw and some milk,to which he added on his own initiative a tin of large,hard dog-biscuitsone of whichdecomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all afternoon.Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle ofwhiskey from a locked bureau door.

I have been drunk just twice in my life,and the second time was that afteroon:so everything that happenedhas a dim.hazy cast over it,although until after eight o'clock the apartment was full of cheerful sun.Sitting