Anthony Lyveden Part 2

"I 'eard," she said loftily.

Anthony felt crushed.

At his suggestion she let him out of the front door.

"See yer to-morrow," she cried.

"That's right, miss."

Anthony pa.s.sed down the steps and walked quickly away. Before he had covered a hundred paces, he stopped and turned up his trousers. The sartorial forfeit to respectability had served its turn.

When Mr. Hopkins, the butler, returned a little unsteadily at a quarter to ten to learn that his mistress had engaged a "proper toff" as his footman, he was profoundly moved.

A visit to the West End offices of _Dogs' Country Homes, Ltd._, which he made the next morning, satisfied Anthony that, by putting Patch in their charge, he was doing the best he could. There was a vacancy at the Hertfordshire branch, less than forty minutes from town, and he arranged to lodge the terrier there the same afternoon. For the sum of a guinea a week the little dog would be fed and housed and exercised.

A veterinary surgeon was attached to the staff, which was carefully supervised. Patch would be groomed every day and bathed weekly.

Visitors were welcomed, and owners often called to see their dogs and take them out for a walk. It was quite customary.

Lyveden emerged from the office a little comforted.

He spent a busy morning.

Deliberately he went to his club. There he wrote to the secretary, resigning his membership. When he had sealed the letter, he looked about him. The comfort--the luxury of it all was very tasty, very appealing. He regretted that he had not used it more often. There was a time when he had thought the place dull. Blasphemy! In his hungry eyes the house became a temple--its members, votaries, sworn to go sleepily about their offices--its rooms, upholstered shrines, chapels of ease....

The door opened and a footman came in.

The silver dream shivered into a million flinders.

After the generous atmosphere of Pall Mall, the reek of the "old clothes" shop was more offensive than usual. The six pounds ten, however, was worth fighting for. Then some cheap hosiery had to be purchased--more collars of the bearing-rein type, some stiff shirts, made-up white ties, pinchbeck studs and cufflinks. As he emerged from the shop, Anthony found himself wondering whether he need have been so harsh with himself about the collars. After all, it was an age of Socialism. Why should a footman be choked? He was as good as Mrs.

Slumper--easily. And she wasn't choked. She was squeezed, though, and pinched....

He lodged his baggage--suit-case and hold-all--at the cloakroom, and took Patch to lunch.

It was by no means the first time that the Sealyham's lunch had been the more expensive of the two. Often and often he had fed well to the embarra.s.sment of his master's stomach. To-day he was to have liver--his favourite dish. Upon this Lyveden was resolved.

The pair visited five restaurants and two public-houses in quest of liver. At the eighth venture they were successful. At the sign of _The Crooked Billet_ liver and bacon was the dish of the day. So much a blurred menu was proclaiming from its enormous bra.s.s frame. Before the two were half-way upstairs, the terrier's excitement confirmed its tale.

Of the two portions, Patch consumed the liver and Anthony the bacon.

This was rather salt, but the zest with which the Sealyham ate furnished a relish which no money could buy.

Then came a ghastly train journey. Mercifully Patch could not understand....

A mile and a half from the station, the Dogs' Home stood in a pleasant place under the lee of a wood. Fair meadows ringed it about, and in the bright sunshine the red-brick house and out-buildings looked cheerful and promising.

Slowly the two pa.s.sed up the well-kept drive.

With his little white dog in his arms, Anthony Lyveden was shown everything. A jolly fair-haired girl--the superintendent--conducted him everywhere. The dogs--all sizes and shapes--welcomed her coming.

Of Patch she made a great deal.

"You must be very proud of him," she said to Anthony.

"I am. And--we're great friends. I hope he won't fret much."

"A little at first, probably. You'll be coming to see him?"

"Once a week, always," said Lyveden. "Oftener if I can."

Presently they returned to the office, where Anthony paid four guineas and received a receipt. Patch was entered in a big book, together with his age and description. Another column received his owner's name and address. The girl hesitated.

"We like," she said, "to have the telephone number, in case of accidents."

"I'll send it to you to-night."

The entry was blotted, and the girl rose. The formalities were at an end.

Lyveden picked up his hat.

Patch greeted the familiar signal joyously. Clearly the call was over.

It had been a good visit--the best they had ever paid. No other place they had been to was full of dogs. Yet to be out and about with his master was better still. He leapt up and down, rejoicing.

Anthony caught him from one of his bounds, held the white sc.r.a.p very close and let him lick his nose. Then he bade him be a good dog and handed him to the girl. She received him tenderly.

"I'm very much obliged to you," he said. "Good day. I'll let myself out. It--it'll be better."

One more caress, and he pa.s.sed out into the hall--blindly. There had been a look in the bright brown eyes that tore his heart.

For a moment Patch fought desperately. Then he heard a door opened and listened intently. A draught swept, and the door closed heavily. With a sudden wrench he was out of the girl's arms and across the shadowy hall. For a moment he stood sniffing, his nose clapped to the sill of the front door. Then he lifted up his voice and wept bitterly.

In the long mirror, half-way up the front staircase, Major Anthony Lyveden, D.S.O., surveyed himself stealthily.

"Not much the matter with the kit," he said grudgingly.

That was largely because there was nothing the matter with the man.

Six feet one in his socks, deep-chested and admirably proportioned, Lyveden cut a fine figure. His thick dark hair was short and carefully brushed, and his lean face was brown with the play of wind and rain and sun. Such features as his broad forehead, aquiline nose, and strong well-shaped mouth, would have distinguished any countenance. Yet the whole of it was shapely and clean-cut, and there was a quiet fearlessness about the keen grey eyes that set you thinking. As a footman he looked magnificent. But he would have killed any master stone dead. Royalty itself could not have borne such a comparison.

As we have seen, the strain of the last fortnight, culminating in Blue Moon's failure and his parting with Patch, had played the deuce with his temperament. The man had gone all to pieces. That, now that a week had gone by, he was himself again, the following letter will show.

It will serve also as a record, and so, gentlemen, spare both of us.

_DEAR TOBY,_

_Before you sailed you were urgent upon me that I should constantly report progress. Nine months have gone by, and I have not written once. Still, my conscience is clear. Hitherto I have had no progress to report._

_Now, however, I have news for you._