But animals don't seem to like me. They're rather
indifferent to me. I wonder if it is a matter of health, or magnetism,
or something of that sort?"
"Oh, no! But it is difficult to explain. Even if you are very fond of
animals it doesn't follow that they will like you. That seems rather
cold, doesn't it? It's almost unfair."
"Yes, if one considers it seriously."
"Don't you?"
Winthrop gazed at her for a second before replying. "I see I must tell
you the truth," he said lightly. "You compel it. It _does_ hurt me to
have anything or any one that I care for indifferent to me. Perhaps it's
because I realize that I am giving affection and selfishly want 'value
returned,' so to speak. Pardon me for becoming serious."
"Surely! But I thank you, too. See Boyar roll! He's happy. No, he
doesn't roll because his back itches. You see, he's sweaty where the
saddle covered him. Before he rolled, you noticed that he deliberately
found a dusty spot. The dust dries the sweat and he doesn't take cold.
That's the real explanation."
"I knew it couldn't be through happiness at leaving you," said Winthrop.
"If you are determined to keep it up," said Louise mischievously, "all
right. But be careful, sir! I enjoy it.
Pages:
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304