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Page 12
Whilst waiting one exeat upon Waterloo station, the girl had annexed
unto herself a holy terror in the shape of a brindle bull-pup.
The hilarious quadruped had twined its leash about one leg of its
master--who was an alien from Wapping--and the spout of a zinc
watering-can which a porter had left upon the platform; for which joke
it had received a vile cuff on its wrinkled physiognomy from the alien
master.
Like some avenging goddess, Damaris, the ladylike, almost finished
product of Onslow House, sprang straight at the man, smote him with the
flat of the hand upon the face, and pounced upon the yelping pup.
"Take your leg out of the dog's chain, you idiot!" she cried, her eyes
blazing, her perfect teeth flashing in a positive snarl. "Be quick;
don't be so clumsy. How dare you hit a dog. He _hit_ him," she
announced to the interested, sympathetic crowd. "Hit him on his lovely
face.
"You gif that dog back to me, missie,--he's mine."
"He's mine. I've got him, and my mother is one of the heads of the
Society that protects children."
"That's got nothing to do wif dogs."
"This is a puppy, so it's a child," had come the decisive reply. "And
I'll buy him, though I needn't really, if I refer it to the Society."
"I'll take ten poun' for 'im."
The child fished for her purse, which, contained half-a-crown and her
ticket, and flung it with a supreme gesture of contempt at the man's
feet; then, squeezing up the dog in her arms, tore a simple gold
bracelet off her left arm and flung it after the purse.
"Worv two poun' at the mos'."
Then, from out of a first-class carriage of the train waiting to start
for Southampton slowly descended Olivia, Duchess of Longacres.
The girl and the alien had their backs turned to her, but the crowd had
seen; had looked; started to laugh, and then had become silent, so
great was the dignity of the old lady.
Clad in a voluminous grey taffeta gown, from under which peeped little
crimson shoes; covered with a huge loose ermine wrap, with the black
poke-bonnet on top of the outrageous golden perruque and the grey
parrot bobbing up and down excitedly upon her shoulder, she stood
silently taking in the scene.
There was the light of battle in the famous hawk's-eyes as she listened
to the girl defending the pup, and her splendid teeth shone in a grin
of enjoyment as she suddenly rattled her ebony stick upon the alien's
ankle-bones, those most tender bits of anatomical scaffolding.
There was a yell of pain as the alien backed hastily into the arms of a
lusty youth who had continuously besought Damaris, to allow him "ter
put it acrorst ther blighter's h'ugly mug," and a cry of delight as
Damaris ran to the old lady's side and, squeezing the pup in one arm,
made the sweetest little reverence in the pretty continental way before
she excitedly wrung her god-mother's hand.
"_Marraine_, he hit the puppy, and I've bought him for ten pounds; at
least, Dad will send a cheque tonight. I've given him half-a-crown and
my bracelet on account."
"Call Hobson," said her grace to the bird, who, obeying, had shrilly
piped, "Tumble up, men, tumble up," until Hobson the maid suddenly
surged, from the second-class and ploughed her way through the
delighted crowd.
"Give the purse and bracelet to my maid, you------"
"Swab," supplemented the parrot.
"-----at once," finished her grace, just as, with a cry of "Here's
Dad!" Damaris ran to meet her father, who, having got hung up in the
traffic, had failed to meet the train. He listened patiently, with
dancing eyes, to the story, smiled across at the duchess, gave the man
a pound-note and a jolly good talking to, and acquired a bull pup with
the Rodney Stone strain, which they promptly christened Wellington, as
it had won at Waterloo.
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