ill," said Richard, after he had offered his congratulations,
"what shall I give you for a wedding-present?"

"Give us that dog of yours."

"Never. Try again."

"Oh, I was only rotting. But, seriously, I'd as soon have a dog as
anything. Not a bulldog--they're too ugly."

"It's a good, honest kind of ugliness. What breed then?"

"Gwen's keen on black poodles."

That settled it. Richard hunted up Smith's card. He had always meant to
do some business with the man if he got an opportunity, and here was the
opportunity. On the following day he journeyed to Wandsworth and found
Smith. Smith looked less spruce and prosperous than before. He did not
actually declare that the performing dog had had his day, but he
admitted that business was not what it had been.

"Too many of us in it. And, I tell you, I'm afraid to bring out a new
idea--it's pinched before you've had a week's use of it. Public's a bit
off it, too. I'm doing practically nothing with the 'alls. I train for
others, and I'm trying to build up a business as a dealer. Only
first-class dogs, mind."

"That's what I want. I came here to buy a dog."

"Let's see. Bulldogs were your fancy. Well, I've got one of the Stone
breed that's won the only time it was shown and will win again."

"This is not for myself. It's a present. Black poodle."

"I see. Well, you've come to the right market. How far were you prepared
to go?"

"Show me a really valuable dog and I will pay the real value. I'm not
buying for the show-bench; but I want the best breed, good health, good
temper, cleverness and training--two years old for choice."

"Ask enough," said Smith, smiling. "Well, if you don't mind stepping
into the yard I can fit you. I'm asking twenty guineas, and he's worth
every penny of it--he'd bring that money back, to anybody who cared to
take it, before a year was out."

The dog was shown--an aristocrat with qualities of temper and
intelligence not always to be found in the aristocrat. Richard Staines
thought he would be paying quite enough, but decided to pay it. He
returned to the house to write his cheque.

"There you are, Mr Smith. By the way, do you remember Zero, the dog you
gave me? He's sitting in my taxi outside."

"I remember him. He'd never win prizes for anybody--not like that poodle
you've just bought. You couldn't teach him anything either. But he could
see ahead, that dog could."

Smith heard how Richard Staines had been saved from the falling ro