t these times it was pleasant to kick Humphrey
off his stool on to the divan, to stand on the divan and kick him on to
the sofa, to stand on the sofa and kick him on to the book-case; and
then, feeling another man, to replace him on the music-stool and
apologise to Celia. It was thus that he lost his tail.

When the War broke out we wrote to the War Office, offering to mobilise
Humphrey. Already he could do "Eyes _right_, eyes _front_." But the loss
of his tail was against him. Rejected by the medical authorities as
unfit, he returned to the music-stool and waited for a job. It was at
this moment that Bingo joined the establishment.

Here we say good-bye to Humphrey for the present; Bingo claims our
attention. Bingo arrived as an absurd little black tub of puppiness,
warranted (by a pedigree as long as your arm) to grow into a Pekinese.
It was Celia's idea to call him Bingo; because (a ridiculous reason) as
a child she had had a poodle called Bingo. The less said about poodles
the better; why rake up the past?

"If there is the slightest chance of Bingo--of this animal growing up
into a poodle," I said, "he leaves my house at once."

"_My_ poodle," said Celia, "was a lovely dog."

(Of course she was only a child then. She wouldn't know.)

"The point is this," I said firmly, "our puppy is meant for a
Pekinese--the pedigree says so. From the look of him it will be touch
and go whether he pulls it off. To call him by the name of a late poodle
may just be the deciding factor. Now I hate poodles; I hate pet dogs. A
Pekinese is not a pet dog; he is an undersized lion. Our puppy may grow
into a small lion, or a mastiff, or anything like that; but I will _not_
have him a poodle. If we call him Bingo, will you promise never to
mention in his presence that you once had a--a--you know what I
mean--called Bingo?"

She promised. I have forgiven her for having once loved a poodle. I beg
you to forget about it. There is now only one Bingo, and he is a
Pekinese puppy.

However, after we had decided to call him Bingo, a difficulty arose.
Bingo's pedigree is full of names like Li Hung Chang and Sun Yat San;
had we chosen a sufficiently Chinese name for him? Apart from what was
due to his ancestors, were we encouraging him enough to grow into a
Pekinese? What was there Oriental about "Bingo"?

In itself, apparently, little. And Bingo himself must have felt this;
for his tail continued to be nothing but a rat's tail, and his body