“My goo’ness!” exclaimed Genesis, glancing back over his shoulder. “’At li’l’ thing ack like he think he go’n a git somewheres!” And then, in answer to a frantic pull upon the tub, “Look like you mighty strong t’day,” he said.  “I cain’ go no fastuh!” He glanced back again, chuckling. “‘At li’l’ bird do well not mix up nothin’ ’ith ole man Clematis!”

Clematis, it happened, was just coming into view, having been detained round the corner by his curiosity concerning a set of Louis XVI. furniture which some house-movers were unpacking upon the sidewalk.  A curl of excelsior, in fact, had attached itself to his nether lip, and he was pausing to remove it—­when his roving eye fell upon Flopit.  Clematis immediately decided to let the excelsior remain where it was, lest he miss something really important.

He approached with glowing eagerness at a gallop.

Then, having almost reached his goal, he checked himself with surprising abruptness and walked obliquely beside Flopit, but upon a parallel course, his manner agitated and his brow furrowed with perplexity.  Flopit was about the size of Clematis’s head, and although Clematis was certain that Flopit was something alive, he could not decide what.

Flopit paid not the slightest attention to Clematis.  The self-importance of dogs, like that of the minds of men, is in directly inverse ratio to their size; and if the self-importance of Flopit could have been taken out of him and given to an elephant, that elephant would have been insufferable.

Flopit continued to pay no attention to Clematis.

All at once, a roguish and irresponsible mood seized upon Clematis; he laid his nose upon the ground, deliberating a bit of gaiety, and then, with a little rush, set a large, rude paw upon the sensitive face of Flopit and capsized him.  Flopit uttered a bitter complaint in an asthmatic voice.

“Oh, nassy dray bid Horror!” cried his mistress, turning quickly at this sound and waving a pink parasol at Clematis.  “Shoo!  Dirty dog!  Go ’way!” And she was able somehow to connect him with the wash-tub and boiler, for she added, “Nassy laundrymans to have bad doggies!”

Mr. Watson rushed upon Clematis with angry bellowings and imaginary missiles.  “You disgusting brute!” he roared.  “How dare you?”

Apparently much alarmed, Clematis lowered his ears, tucked his tail underneath him, and fled to the rear, not halting once or looking back until he disappeared round the corner whence he had come.  “There!” said Mr. Watson.  “I guess he won’t bother us again very soon!”

It must be admitted that Milady was one of those people who do not mind being overheard, no matter what they say.  “Lucky for us,” she said, “we had a nice dray bid Mans to protect us, wasn’t it, Flopit?” And she thought it necessary to repeat something she had already made sufficiently emphatic.

“Nassy laundrymans!”