Chapter III

Mr. Maclin ordered a new doormat every three days, and kept a package of dog biscuits in the drawer of the library table. He dealt these out with a lavish hand whenever the little brown dog saw fit to call for them, and was not without hope that a cultivated taste for dog biscuit might in time replace a natural one for doormats.

Mr. Maclin would have been glad to make the acquaintance of the supposed owner of the little brown dog, but didn't quite know how to go about it.

But one day, as he watched the little brown dog digging as usual in the geranium bed, he had an inspiration.

He paid a visit to the florist, and came back with a long pasteboard box tucked under his arm. It was filled with a glowing mass of red geraniums.

The composition of a suitable note to accompany the flowers was a task requiring much time and mental effort.

Finally, in sheer desperation, Mr. Maclin wrote on one of his cards, "To replace the flowers the dog has dug up," and dropped it among the scarlet blossoms.

He had hesitated between "the dog" and "your dog," but had decided against the latter, being fearful that it might, perhaps, be construed as conveying a subtle hint of reproach. Mr. Maclin's lawn also was defaced by many unsightly holes.

Miss Clementina wondered a little that the article "the" should have replaced the possessive pronoun "my." But on reflection she decided that one might not unreasonably object to confessing in so many words to the possession of a dog who so persistently did all the things he ought not to do. And, anyway, it was nice of Mr. Maclin to have sent the flowers.

Miss Clementina wrote a charming note of thanks, and earnestly assured Mr. Maclin that she didn't object in the least to the little dog's digging up her lawn.

Mr. Maclin smiled at the _naivete_ of the little note, and tucked it carefully away in his pocketbook.

Thereafter the two bowed soberly when they chanced to meet, and occasionally exchanged a casual remark concerning the weather.

And once, when Miss Clementina was picking the dead leaves from what was left of the geranium plants, Mr. Maclin paused to remark that the little brown dog seemed very fond of her.

"And of you, too," Miss Clementina had quickly returned. It couldn't be pleasant, she thought, for Mr. Maclin to feel that his pet had deserted him for a stranger.

"It's the dog biscuits I give him," Mr. Maclin explained, confidentially.

"Oh," said Miss Clementina, "is he fond of them? I've always considered meat much more nourishing."

"I dare say it is," Mr. Maclin agreed. "But dog biscuits are handier to keep about. And he comes for them so often."

Then, covered with confusion, he beat a hasty retreat. He hadn't intended to hint at the voracious appetite of Miss Clementina's pet.