Coelebs: The Love Story of a Bachelor

by F. E. Mills Young

purposes, "that themaster is courtin' the young lady, or the young lady is courtin' themaster, through that blessed dog. Now I wonder," and Martha turned tothe stove and went through mysterious manoeuvres with the vessels uponit, "how that will work? Come to my time o' life and his, change--thatkind of change--makes for trouble as a rule."

  Small wonder that in the disturbed preoccupation of his cook's mind MrMusgrave's dinner that night suffered in the cooking. But Mr Musgravewas himself too preoccupied to notice this; the business of eating hadno interest for him.

  He was relieved on returning to the drawing-room to find Diogenes inoccupation of the rug once more; and Diogenes, who had the gregariousinstinct even more deeply implanted than Mr Musgrave, in whom it was arecent development, welcomed him effusively and finally stretchedhimself at Mr Musgrave's feet and snorted contentedly, while themaster, of the house sat back in his chair and read, and--which did notastonish Diogenes, though it would have amazed anyone intimate with JohnMusgrave's lifetime habits--violated another rule by smoking a cigarwhile he read.

  The grouping of the man and the dog in the warm, firelit room made apleasing, homelike picture, so different in effect from the ordinarypicture of John Musgrave reading in scholarly solitude by his shadedlamp, without the solace of tobacco even, that it scarcely seemed thesame room or the same man seated in the big chair wreathed in ascendingclouds of blue smoke spirals.

  This picture, as it impressed the vicar, when a few evenings later hewas shown in and beheld a similar grouping, so similar that it appearedas if the man and dog had remained in the same positions withoutinterruption, was so surprising, despite its cosy, natural air, that heentirely forgot the object of his visit, nor remembered it until he wason his homeward way.

  "Hallo!" he exclaimed, as John Musgrave rose to greet him, and, removingthe cigar from his mouth, wrung his hand warmly. "You look jollycomfortable. The wind is bitter to-night. It is good to shelter in aroom like this."

  "Sit down," said Mr Musgrave. He pushed the cigars towards his friend."Will you smoke?" he asked.

  Walter Errol's eyes twinkled as he accepted a cigar and snipped the endwith a contemplative stare at Diogenes. He did not, however, betray theamazement he felt, but appeared to regard these innovations as veryordinary events.

  The big dog sprawling before the hearth and the smoke-laden atmosphereof the room which, until Mrs Chadwick had first profaned it, had beenpreserved from the fumes of tobacco, were surprisingly agreeablenovelties. The vicar had seldom enjoyed an evening in John Musgrave'sdrawing-room so much as he enjoyed that evening, sitting chatting withhis friend over old college days and acquaintances. It was late when herose to go, and still he had not mentioned the matter about which he hadcome, did not mention it at all; it had slipped from his mind entirely.

  "It's so comfortable here," he said, with his jolly laugh, "that I'mloth to go, John. There is only one substitution I could suggest, andone addition, to improve the picture."

  "What are they?" asked Mr Musgrave, his glance travelling round thehomelike room.

  The vicar paused and seemed to reflect.

  "Well," he said at last, "I would substitute a child in place of thedog, and... But you don't need to inquire what form the addition wouldtake. We've discussed all that before. I'm not sure I wouldn't makethem both additions," he added, "and let the dog remain."

  Mr Musgrave reddened.

  "Don't you think," he suggested, with a diffidence altogether atvariance with his usual manner of receiving this advice, "that I amrather old for such changes?"

  "You are just over forty," the other answered, "and forty is the primeof life... Any age is the prime of life when a man is disposed toregard it so. You grow younger every day, John."

  When the vicar left him John Musgrave returned to the fire and stoodbeside Diogenes on the rug, staring thoughtfully down into the flames.In the heart of the flames he saw a picture of an upturned face, of apair of darkly grey eyes gazing earnestly into his.

  "You are so kind, so very kind." The words repeated themselves in hismemory. "I wish there was something I could do for you..."

  John Musgrave stirred restlessly. Were the words sincere, he wondered?They had been sincere at the time, he knew; but possibly they had beenprompted by the gratitude of the moment; and gratitude is no moreenduring than any other quality. He glanced at Diogenes, who, with amuch-wrinkled brow, was also contemplating the flames.

  "I think it would be extortionate to demand payment for the service,Diogenes," he said.

  Diogenes looked up and snorted approval.

  "It is, after all, a privilege to feel that one has rendered someservice and has received her thanks. I don't think it would be fair--toher--to expect more."

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

  May was well advanced before the Chadwicks returned from theirwanderings. They came home unexpectedly towards the middle of themonth, cutting short their stay in London because certain matters inMoresby called imperatively for Mrs Chadwick's immediate attention; andPeggy, for another reason which she did not explain, was very ready tofling aside the holiday mood and return to work.

  The first intimation John Musgrave received of the Chadwicks' returncame from the fountain head, being conveyed to him in a manner and at amoment when, glad though he was to learn that the family was home again,he would have preferred to have remained in ignorance until a morefavourable opportunity. As matters fell out, however, he made the bestof them, and wore as composed a mien as possible in face of anembarrassing situation.

  Mr Musgrave was starting out for his customary morning walk inDiogenes' company when outside his gate he came very unexpectedly fullupon Will Chadwick. Had Diogenes' memory been less faithful the meetingmight have passed off without awkwardness; but Diogenes, recognising hisformer master, became so wildly effusive in his welcome that MrChadwick during the first few moments could not disentangle himself fromthe dog's excited embraces, or return Mr Musgrave's greeting. Helaughed when finally he shook John Musgrave's hand.

  "Your dog seems to have taken a violent fancy to me," he said.

  "Quiet, Diogenes!" Mr Musgrave commanded unthinkingly. "Down, sir!"

  Will Chadwick looked at Diogenes, and from the dog to Mr Musgrave.Then he looked again at Diogenes more attentively. There was in theprotracted scrutiny, in the queer glint in the indolent blue eyes, ahint of something very like suspicion, as though Mr Musgrave'singenuousness were being questioned. King's face, when Mr Musgravetook the dog into Rushleigh for purposes of the toilet, wore much thesame expression.

  "This is a surprise," exclaimed Mr Musgrave. "I had no idea you wereback."

  "We got home last night. Motored from town; a good run, but tiring."

  "I trust," Mr Musgrave said, "that the ladies are well?"

  "First rate, thanks." Will Chadwick watched Mr Musgrave as, havingsucceeded in grasping Diogenes' collar, he promptly fixed the chain."New dog, eh?" he said.

  "I have had him some months," Mr Musgrave replied. "But I prefer tokeep him on the chain when we get outside the gate. He is a bit wild."

  "Seems to be--yes."

  Mr Chadwick continued to regard the dog reflectively. He had heard ofpeople turning suddenly white through shock; he was wondering whetherchange of residence could have the effect of changing a white bull-doginto a brindle.

  "You call him Diogenes?" he observed. "It's odd, but he is so like thedog we had I could almost swear it is the same. Same stock, perhaps.What's his pedigree?"

  "I really haven't an idea," Mr Musgrave replied, feeling increasinglyuncomfortable. "The resemblance you speak of to your dog is verymarked. I have observed it myself. I call him Diogenes on thataccount."

  "Oh!" said Mr Chadwick.

  The talk hung for a time. Mr Chadwick was debating whether a strongfamily likeness between two animals might extend to the affections in sofar as to incline them towards the same persons. Mr Musgrave's brindlebetrayed the fawning devotion towards himself that he had b
eenaccustomed to from his own dog.

  "He's a nice-looking beast," he remarked, still scrutinising Diogenesclosely. "Might be a prize dog if it wasn't for his coat."

  "What is wrong with his coat?" inquired Mr Musgrave anxiously.

  "That is what I should like to be able to state definitely. The colourisn't good."

  The speaker here examined the dog at a nearer range, to Mr Musgrave'sfurther discomfiture. When he faced Mr Musgrave again there was apuzzled questioning in his eyes, but he made no further allusion to thedog; the subject was tacitly dropped.

  The wisdom of