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Green," said Vane. "Softened by toast, floating in Devonshire butter and covered with wortleberry jam; mellowed by saffron cake Binks will complete the conquest. Then will come the crucial moment. No one, not even she, can part me from my dog. To have Binks she must have me. . . . What do you think of it as a game only, you know?" Mrs. Green laughed.
But when he returned Binks was still exhaling vigorously at a hole in the wainscot, behind which he fancied he had detected a sound. With the chance of a mouse on the horizon he became like Gamaliel, and cared for none of these things. . . . A taxi drove up to the door, and Vane threw down the book he was pretending to read, and listened with his heart in his mouth.
Vesey didn't know; she told me about the bullfinches, but she couldn't say how the arm was lost. I should say it must have been nipped off by a Polar bear, shouldn't you, Binks? Geoff's eyes protruded excitedly as he mentally pictured the suggested nip. 'Polar bear? Hum! Well, it might ha' bin. I never fancied bears.
Green," called Vane, "come up and confer with me on a matter of great importance. . . ." With a wild rush Binks emerged from below as if shot from a catapult to be followed by Mrs. Green wiping her hands on her apron. "A most important affair, Mrs. Green," continued Vane, when he had let himself into his rooms, and pacified Binks temporarily with the squeaky indiarubber dog.
"A feint towards the window, one towards the door and then throw." A quivering, ecstatic body, a short, staccato bark and Binks had caught his enemy. He bit once; he bit again and then, a little puzzled, he dropped it. Impossible to conceive that it was really dead at last and yet, it no longer hooted. Binks looked up at his master for information on the subject, and Vane scratched his head.
One lick, you little rascal, as it's a special occasion. And incidentally, mind my arm, young fellow-me-lad." He put Binks down, and turned with a smile to Mrs. Green. "Has he been good, Mrs. Green?" "Good as good, sir," she answered. "I'm sure he's a dear little dog. Just for the first week after you went the same as the other times he'd hardly touch a thing.
Just lay outside your door and whined and whined his poor little heart out. . . ." The motherly old woman stooped to pat the dog's head, and Binks licked her fingers once to show that he was grateful for what she'd done. But and this was a big but she was only a stop-gap. Now and with another scurry of feet, he was once again jumping round the only one who really mattered.
She was pretty always; but with a sudden catch of his breath Vane told himself that this morning she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. "I've got the cage, Derek," she said, "and the beautifullest bone for Binks that he's ever thought of. . . ." "You dear," answered Vane, and for a moment their eyes met. "You absolute dear. . . ." Then with a quick change of tone he laughed.
He entered with hearty good-will into the scheme for weekly penny readings, and delivered an address at the preliminary meeting, in which he alluded with a sly touch of humour to the capabilities of Mr. Binks, the saddler, who was reputed to sing a famous comic song, and of Raspall, the baker, who had once tried his hand at an original Christmas carol.
B'ys is never content without the dogs arter them. I dunno where t'other young muster is, but the ladies is on their way across in their boat, added Binks, shading his eyes to gaze out over the water. 'I know they are, said Mrs. Vesey; 'I've been watching them. I saw them start from the Bunk pier. The boat's pretty well into the middle of the bay, now. Can't you see them, Binks?
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