The idea of beating Mr. Bason in the race for first prize with the “rough-haired mongrel” which “it amused us to keep about our house” was most appealing.

As soon as dinner was over, Berry rang up the Secretary.

Our surmise was correct.  Blue Bandala was entered.

“Well, am I too late to enter a Sealyham?”

“Not if you do it to-morrow,” came the reply.

“You shall have the particulars before mid-day.”

“Right-oh.”

Berry replaced the receiver.

“Little Herbert will take the first prize for Chows,” he said.  “That can’t be helped.  But he’s entered his dog for the ‘All Comers,’ and that’s our chance.  If we can’t lift that goblet from under his ugly nose, I’ll never smile again.”

“What exactly’s ’All Comers’?” said Jill.

“The best all-round specimen of any breed.  Manners, carriage—­everything’s taken into consideration.”

“If personality counts,” said Jonah, “Nobby’ll romp home.”

I regarded our unconscious representative with an appraising eye.  Supine upon the sofa, with his head out of sight behind Adele, there was little to recommend him as a model of deportment.  With a sigh I resumed the composition of a reply to Mr. Bason’s remarkable letter.

When I had finished the draft, I gave it to Berry.  The latter read it through, nodding solemn approval.  Then he repaired to the writing-table and copied my sentences, word for word, on to a sheet of notepaper.

As he laid down his pen, he rose to his feet.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said.  “If the blighter replies, and Nobby comes off at the show, we’ll send this correspondence to the local Press.”

“Let’s have it,” said Jonah.

Berry handed me the letter, and I read it aloud.

SIR,

I have received your note.

As an alloy of misrepresentation of fact, arrogant bluster and idle menaces, I doubt whether it has ever been equalled upon this side of the Rhine.

Indeed, its legibility would appear to be its only merit.

Not that I care for your style of handwriting, but in these degenerate days it is, you will agree, a relief to receive a letter which can be easily read.

You did go a bust on Blue Banana, didn’t you?

Pray act upon your first impulse and apply for a summons.  The Bench will not grant your application, but—­again you will agree—­it is the effort, and not the result, which counts.

It is nice of you to inquire after my Sealyham.  He is none the worse, thanks, and I fancy he made old Blue Banana sit up.

Yours faithfully,

BERRY PLEYDELL.

H.  BASON, Esq.

P.S.—­You must forgive me for addressing you as “Esquire,” but it is difficult to break a foolish habit of courtesy which I formed as a child.  B. P.