The terrier had continued to bark in some sequestered spot. Now the sound suddenly increased in volume. With a crescendo of barking he could be heard galloping across the hall.
"Who´s come into the house? I´ll tear him limb from limb," was clearly the `burden of his song´.
He arrived in the doorway, sniffing violently.
"Oh, Bob, you naughty dog," exlaimed our conductress. "Don´t mind him, sir. He won´t do you no harm."
Bob, indeed, having discovered the intruders, completely changed his manner. He fussed in and introduced himself to us in an agreeable manner.
"Pleased to meet you, I´m sure," he observed as he sniffled round our ankles. "Excuse the noise, won´t you, but I have my job to do. Got to be careful who we let in, you know. But it´s a dull life and I´m really quite pleased to see a visitor. Dogs of your own, I fancy?"
This last adressed to me as I stopped and patted him.
Yeah ... right. I just finished a book in which someone was analysing the thoughts of a horse, now Hastings is doing the exact same thing with a dog.
I´m giving him the benefit of the doubt, though. Maybe he got drunk over lunch or he got a sunstroke, driving down to Market Basing in an open car on a hot morning in June.
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