When I go out to Flushing, I
stipulate that the dogs shall be locked up in the cellar from ten
minutes before my train is due until ten minutes after I have left the
house. But it would be foolhardy to omit additional precautions. Hence I
always carry an umbrella with the ferrule sharpened to a point, and when
I am within a block of the house I stoop and pick up a large stone, and
go on my way, with all my senses acute, whistling cheerfully. It is odd
how people will put themselves out to keep a harmless, poor relation out
of the way of visitors, and never think of the much greater discomfort
attendant upon the constant presence of an active bull-terrier.
I may have produced the impression that life in the country makes no
appeal to me. Nothing could be further from my intentions. Whatever
doubts I may have entertained on this point vanish completely as the
Harringtons escort me to the station in the cool of the evening, the dog
having been left at home at my request. We pass by low, white-pillared
houses behind hedges, and the scent of hay comes up from the lawns, and
laughter comes from the dark of the verandas.
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