"My little dog, now you are going away too. Everything goes away—Thilda dead—Minna gone—tell me, mister, what do the likes of us live for, really?"
The final touch!
The little cheerless, electric light which he now switched on, the decaying smell of the aquariums, the light rustling of the tortoises and the birds, and the little bloated fellow in this shop . . .
"The big bugs, they know of course—but tell me, mister, the likes of us what do we have to live for, I want to know?
What do we poor miserable mongrels have to live for, eh sir?"
The monkey uttered a lamentable cry and sprang like a madman to and fro on his perch.
His shadow leapt with him, large upon the wall.
"Koko," sobbed the little man, who had been sitting alone in the darkness drinking, "my only, come!" He held out the bottle to him.
The monkey reached for it.
"You'll do the creature in, if you give him that to drink," said I. "And what of it, mister?" he stuttered. "A few years longer on the chain or not—it's all one—all one—sir."
I took the dog that was pressing warm against me and went.
Graceful, with long, easy movements, it ran beside me to the car.
I drove home and with the clog on the lead, went cautiously up.
In the passage I stopped and looked in the mirror.
My face was as usual.
I knocked on Pat's door, opened it a little, and let the dog in.
I remained outside, holding firmly to the lead, and waited.
But instead of Pat's voice I heard unexpectedly Frau Zalewski's bass:
"Good gracious!"
Breathing again, I looked in.
I had been afraid of the first moment alone with Pat.
Now it was all easy; Frau Zalewski was a bulkhead to be relied on.
She was sitting enthroned at the table, a cup of coffee beside her and a pack of cards spread out in mystic order in front of her.
Pat, with shining eyes, was curled up beside her having her future told.
"Good evening," said I, suddenly very pleased.
"There he comes," announced Frau Zalewski solemnly. "The short way in the evening hour, beside him a dark gentleman at the top of the house."
The dog pulled free, and, barking, shot between my legs into the room.
"My gracious!" cried Pat. "But it's an Irish terrier!"
"One up to you," said I. "I didn't know that myself, an hour ago."
She bent down and the dog sprang up stormily on her.
"What's his name then, Robby?"
"No idea.
Probably Cognac or Whisky or some such, after his last owner."
"Does he belong to us?"
"So far as any living creature can belong to another, yes."
She was quite breathless with joy.
"We'll call him Billy, Robby.
My mother had one when she was a girl.
She often told me about it. His name was Billy too."
"Then I've struck it lucky," said I. "Is it house-trained?" asked Frau Zalewski.
"He has a pedigree like a duke," I replied. "And dukes are house-trained."
"Not when they are little. How old is he then?"
"Eight months.
That is as much as sixteen years with a human being."
"He doesn't look house-trained," declared Frau Zalewski.
"He needs washing, that's all."
Pat stood up and put her arm about Frau Zalewski's shoulder.
I looked at her, perplexed.
"I've always wanted to have a dog," said she. "You will let us keep him, won't you?
You surely haven't anything against it."