“Fifteen thirty,” cried Adele, making ready to serve.  “Hullo!” She pointed with her racket over my shoulder.  “Nobby’s gone lame.”

I swung on my heel to see the terrier limping apologetically towards me, and going dead lame upon the near fore.

As he came up, I dropped my racket and fell upon one knee, the better to search for the cause of the trouble.  Carefully I handled the affected limb....

My fingers came to his toes, and the Sealyham winced.  With a sigh of relief, I laid him upon his back.

“Got it?” said Adele.

I looked up into the beautiful face three inches from mine.

“I fancy so.”  I bent to peer at the small firm foot.  “Yes.  Here we are.  He’s picked up a puncture.”

The next moment I plucked a substantial thorn from between two strong black toes.  A warm red tongue touched my restraining fingers in obvious gratitude.

“Will he be all right?”—­anxiously.

“He shall speak for himself,” said I, releasing my patient.

With a galvanic squirm the latter regained his feet, spun into the air, gyrated till I felt dizzy, and then streaked round the tennis-lawn, his hind feet comically overreaching his fore, steering a zigzag course with such inconsequence as suggested that My Lord of Misrule himself was directing him by wireless.

It was not worth while finishing our interrupted game, so we strolled back to the house.  At the top of the stairs we parted, to go and change.  Directly after lunch we were to leave for the fair.

Six days had elapsed since Nobby’s scuffle with the apple of Mr. Bason’s eye.  Life had slipped by uneventfully.  The Sealyham had been put upon a strict diet and was thoroughly groomed three times a day:  my store of clean starched linen had dwindled to one shirt and two collars, which, distrusting my brother-in-law, I kept under lock and key:  and Mr. Bason had been stung by our letter into sending a reply which afforded us the maximum of gratification.  It ran as follows—­

SIR,

Your insulting letter to hand.

I stand by every word of my previous letter.

The sooner, therefore, that you realize that I am not to be trifled with, the better for all concerned.

You are evidently one of those people who believe that impudent bluff will carry them anywhere, and that, with your birth and upbringing behind you, you can do as you please.  But you are wrong.  Among men who are men, as distinct from pedantic popinjays, you go for nothing.  Pshaw.

HERBERT BASON.

B. PLEYDELL, Esq._

P.S.—­Be good enough to note that my dog’s name is “Blue Bandala,” not “Blue Banana."

H.  B.

Our reply was dispatched within twenty-four hours.

SIR,

Many thanks for your masterly appreciation of my character.