lder than any iceberg. But then I must
confess that I am prejudiced. I did not like him; no children did.

The Cole children hated him. Jeremy because he had damp hands, Helen
because he never looked at her, Mary because he once said to her,
"Little girls must play as well as work, you know." He always talked
down to us as though we were beings of another and inferior planet. He
called it, "Getting on with the little ones." No, he was not popular
with us.

He stood on this particular and dramatic occasion in front of the
group in the doorway and stared--as well he might. Unfortunately the
situation, already bad enough, was aggravated by this dark prominence of
Mr. Jellybrand. It cannot be found in any chronicles that Mr. Jellybrand
and the dog had met before; it is simply a fact that the dog,
raising his eyes at the opening of the door and catching sight of the
black-coated figure, forgot instantly his toilet, rose dripping from his
rug, and advanced growling, his lips back, his ears out, his tail erect,
towards the door. Then everything happened together. Mr. Jellybrand, who
had been afraid of dogs ever since, as an infant, he had been mistaken
for a bone by a large retriever, stepped back upon Aunt Amy, who uttered
a shrill cry. Mrs. Cole, although she did not forsake her accustomed
placidity, said: "Nurse... Nurse..." Jeremy cried: "It's all right, he
wouldn't touch anything, he's only friendly." Mary and Helen together
moved forward as though to protect Jeremy, and the Jampot could be
heard in a confused wail: "Not me, Mum... Wickedest boy... better give
notice... as never listens... dog... dog..."

The animal, however, showed himself now, as at that first earlier view
of him, indifferent to his surroundings. He continued his advance and
then, being only a fraction of an inch from Mr. Jellybrand's tempting
gleaming black trousers, he stopped, crouched like a tiger, and with
teeth still bared continued his kettle-like reverberations. Aunt
Amy, who hated dogs, loved Mr. Jellybrand, and was not in the least
sentimental when her personal safety was in danger, cried in a shrill
voice: "But take it away. Take it away. Alice, tell him. It's going to
bite Mr. Jellybrand."

The dog raised one eye from his dreamy contemplation of the trousers and
glanced at Aunt Amy; from that moment may be dated a feud which death
only concluded. This dog was not a forgetful dog.

Jeremy advanced. "It's all right," he cried scornfully.