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An' then t' Colonel, as was noa sort of a hand wi' a dog, tees him oop. A real clipper of a dog, an' it's noa wonder yon laady, Mrs. DeSussa, should tek a fancy tiv him. Theer's one o' t' Ten Commandments says yo maun't cuvvet your neebor's ox nor his jackass, but it doesn't say nowt about his tarrier dogs, an' happen thot's t' reason why Mrs.
"Ay, he would, mum," sez I, "for he's fond o' laady's coompany. Coom here, Rip, an' speeak to this kind laady." An' Rip, seein' 'at t' mongoose hed getten clean awaay, cooms up like t' gentleman he was, nivver a hauporth shy or okkord. "Oh, you beautiful you prettee dog!" she says, clippin' an' chantin' her speech in a way them sooart has o' their awn; "I would like a dog like you.
Maggie, his servant, planted firmly on the threshold, jerked her head over her shoulder to call to him. "There's a yoong laady wants to see yo, Mr. Greatorex!" There was no response but a sharp tapping on the hob, as Greatorex knocked the ashes out of his pipe. Maggie stood looking at Alice a little mournfully with her deep-set, blue, pathetic eyes.
DeSussa, an't' waay I coom to be acquainted wi' her was along of our Colonel's Laady's dog Rip. I've seen a vast o' dogs, but Rip was t' prettiest picter of a cliver fox-tarrier 'at iver I set eyes on. He could do owt you like but speeak, an' t' Colonel's Laady set more store by him than if he hed been a Christian.
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