Chapter Eight. Little Slidder Resists Temptation Successfully, and I Become Enslaved.
“Pompey,” said I, one afternoon, while reclining on the sofa in Dobson's drawing-room, my leg being not yet sufficiently restored to admit of my going out— “Pompey, I've got news for you.” To my surprise my doggie would not answer to that name at all when I used it, though he did so when it was used by Miss Blythe.
“Dumps!” I said, in a somewhat injured tone.
Ears and tail at once replied.
“Come now, Punch,” I said, rather sternly; “I'll call you what I please—Punch, Dumps, or Pompey—because you are my dog still, at least as long as your mistress and I live under the same roof; so, sir, if you take the Dumps when I call you Pompey, I'll punch your head for you.” Evidently the dog thought this a very flat jest, for he paid no attention to it whatever.
“Now, Dumps, come here and let's be friends. Who do you think is coming to stay with us—to stay altogether? You'll never guess. Your old friend and first master, little Slidder, no less. Think of that!”
