Like every good dog who has been much talked to, he was
as adept as any dead-beat in reading the varying shades of the
human voice. The voices and faces alike of his two adored deities
told him something wonderful had happened. And, as ever, he
rejoiced in their gladness. Lifting his magnificent head, he
broke into a salvo of trumpeting barks; the oddly triumphant form
of racket he reserved for great moments.
"What's Laddie doing?" asked Cyril, from the threshold. "He
sounds as if he was going mad or something."
"He's happy," answered the Mistress.
"Why's he happy?" queried the child.
"Because his Master and I are happy," patiently returned the
Mistress.
"Why are YOU happy?" insisted Cyril.
"Because today is Thursday," put in the Master. "And that means
tomorrow will be Friday."
"And on Friday," added the Mistress, "there's going to be a
beautiful surprise for you, Cyril. We can't tell you what it is,
but--"
"Why can't you tell me?" urged the child. "Aw, go ahead and tell
me! I think you might."
The Master had gone over to the nearest window; and was staring
out into the gray-black dusk.
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