And for once the Board was unanimous about
something. It was unanimous--in expelling Rhuburger from the
club. Then we--By the way, where's Laddie? Curled up by Lady's
grave, as usual, I suppose? Poor old dog!"
"No," denied the Mistress. "He's asleep in his 'cave' under the
piano. He went there, of his own accord. And he ate a perfectly
tremendous supper, tonight. He's--he's CURED!"
CHAPTER VIII. In Strange Company
Lad was getting along in years.
Not yet had age begun to claw at him; blearing the wondrous
deep-set dark eyes and silvering the classic muzzle and
broadening the shapely skull and stiffening the sweepingly free
gait; dulling the sharp ears or doing any of the other pitiably
tragic things that nature does to the dog who is progressing in
his teens. Those, humiliations were still waiting for Lad, one by
one; beyond the next Turn of the Road.
Yet the romp and the spirit of bubbling fun and the lavishly
needless exercise--these were merging into sobriety. True, at
rare times, with the Mistress or the Master--especially with the
Mistress, Lad would forget he was middle-aged and dignified; and
would play like a crazy puppy.
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