does not minister to their own bodily inwards is a “parasite.”  Dogs are “parasites”; they should not live, because to fat and eat them somehow appears uncongenial.  “Kill Dogs and Feed Pigs,” they write to the papers, and, with a Velasquez available, would burn it rather than go chilly.  “Kill dogs, feed pigs, and let me eat the pigs!” they cry, even under no great stress, these stern economists who have not noticed how wasteful the Creator is proved to be if He made themselves.  They take the strictly intestinal view of life.  It is not intelligent; parasite bacilli will get them in the end.

Mrs. Silver was not of these.  True, she sometimes professed herself averse to all “animals,” but this meant nothing more than her unwillingness to have her work increased by their introduction into the Atwater household.  No; the appearance of the dog had stirred something queer and fundamental within her.  All coloured people look startled the first time they see a French Poodle, but there is a difference.  Most coloured men do not really worry much about being coloured, but many coloured women do.  In the expression of a coloured man, when he looks at a black and woolly French Poodle, there is something fonder and more indulgent than there is in the expression of a coloured woman when she looks at one.  In fact, when some coloured women see a French Poodle they have the air of being insulted.

Now, when Kitty Silver had first set eyes on this poodle, an hour earlier, she looked, and plainly was, dumfounded.  Never in her life had she seen a creature so black, so incredibly black, or with hair so kinky, so incredibly kinky.  Julia had not observed Mrs. Silver closely nor paused to wonder what thoughts were rousing in her mind, but bade her take the poodle forth for exercise outdoors and keep him strictly upon the leash.  Without protest, though wearing a unique expression, Kitty obeyed; she walked round the block with this mystifying dog; and during the promenade had taken place the episode that so upset her nerves.

She had given a little jerk to the leash, speaking sharply to the poodle in reproach for some lingering near a wonderful sidewalk smell, imperceptible to any one except himself.  Instantly the creature rose and walked beside her on his hind legs.  He continued to parade in this manner, rapidly, but nevertheless as if casually, without any apparent inconvenience; and Mrs. Silver, never having seen a dog do such a thing before, for more than a yard or so, and then only under the pressure of many inducements, was unfavourably impressed.  In fact, she had definitely a symptom of M. Maeterlinck’s awed feeling when he found himself left alone with the talking horses:  “With whom was she?”

“Look-a-here, dog!” she said breathlessly.  “Who you tryin’ to skeer? You ain’t no person!”