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Updated: June 1, 2025
Not only had they shared bed and board as many a good man and dog have done, but they had shared the serious affairs of life, its triumphs, its disillusions. And Prepimpin was all that he had to love in the wide world. "Pardon, monsieur," said a voice. He looked up and saw the woman who had followed him.
Prepimpin went through his repertoire with the punctilio of the barrack square deprecated by Bakkus. "I buy him," said Andrew. "Viens, mon ami." Prepimpin cast an oblique glance at his old master. "Va-t-en," said the latter. "Allons" said Andrew with a caressing touch on the dog's head. Prepimpin's topaz eyes gazed full into his new lord's. He wagged the tuft at the end of his shaven tail.
He is making up a besotted mind to say, "Fly with me," when the Karinski troupe vanishes Moscow-wards and an inexorable contract drives him to Dantzic. In that ancient town, looking into the faithful and ironical eyes of Prepimpin, he thanks God he did not make a fool of himself. You see, he succeeds. If you credited his modesty, you would think that Prepimpin made Petit Patou. Quod est absurdum.
They did their famous cigar trick, developed from the act of Prepimpin. He had elaborated much of the comic business. The new patter, with up-to-date allusions, had resulted from serious conclave with Horatio Bakkus, whose mordant wit supplied many a line that should have convulsed the house. But the house refused to be convulsed.
As a record of dog and man sympathy it is of remarkable interest; it has indeed a touch of rare beauty; but as it is a detailed history of Prepimpin rather than an account of a phase in the career of Andrew Lackaday, I must wring my feelings and do no more than make a passing reference to their long and, from my point of view, somewhat monotonous partnership.
He lunched, saw to Prepimpin's meal, smoked the cheap cigar of content, and then, crossing the noisy little flagged square, went through the gates, Prepimpin at his heels, and made his way across the dusty road to the bridge. The work-a-day folk, on that week-day afternoon, had all returned to their hives in the town, and the pathways of the bridge contained but few pedestrians.
He told her of Horatio Bakkus, and of the season on the sands, when first he realized her original idea of exploiting his figure; of Prepimpin in his prime and their wanderings about Europe. And now alas! there was no longer a Prepimpin. "But how will you give the performance this evening without him?" she asked. He shrugged his shoulders. He had not given a thought to that yet.
And then came June and with it the manuscript and all the flood of information about the Agence Moignon and Bakkus and Petit Patou and Prepimpin and Elodie and various other things that I have yet to set down. While Lady Auriol Dayne was rocking about the Outer Hebrides, we find Andrew Lackaday in Paris confronted with the grim necessity of earning a livelihood.
The miracle beyond human explanation was accomplished, the love at first sight between man and dog. Now, in the manuscript there is much about Prepimpin. Lackaday, generally so precise, has let himself go over the love and intelligence of this most human of animals. To read him you would think that Prepimpin invented his own stage business and rehearsed Petit Patou.
He remembered the young girl who had rushed to him so tearfully as he was bending over the body of Prepimpin the flashing vision of the women of another world. In such a one would he find the divine companionship.
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