"
"That's more than I can say for dear old Roxy. But I'll try to
anticipate Raggles by compelling Edith to keep her distance," he said,
scowling darkly. "Has it not occurred to you that Tootles will be
pretty--er--much of a nuisance when it comes to mountain climbing?" He
felt his way carefully in saying this.
"Oh, dear me, Roxbury, would you have left the poor little darling at
home--in all that dreadful heat?"
"I'm sure I couldn't have been blamed for leaving her at home," he
protested. "She didn't exist until half an hour ago. Heavens! how they
do spring up!"
The remainder of Brock's day was spent in getting acquainted with his
family--or, rather, his _menage_. There were habits and foibles, demands
and restrictions, that he had to adapt himself to with unvarying
benignity. He made a friend of Raggles without half trying; dogs always
took to him, he admitted modestly. Tootles was less vulnerable. She
howled consistently at each of his first half-dozen advances; his
courage began to wane with shocking rapidity; his next half-hearted
advances were in reality inglorious retreats. Spurred on by the
sustaining Constance, he stood by his guns and at last was gratified to
see faint signs of surrender. By midday he had conquered. Tootles
permitted him to carry her up and down the station platform (she was too
young to realise the risk she ran). Edith and Constance, with the
beaming nurse and O'Brien, applauded warmly when he returned from his
first promenade, bearing Tootles and proudly heeled by Raggles.
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