He Is Devoted To
Me, But I Regret To Say That He And Our Old Soldier Cook Are Not The
Dearest Friends.
Findlay is so stupid he cannot appreciate the cunning
things the little dog does.
Hal is fed mush and milk only until he
gets his second teeth, and consequently he is wild about meat. The
odor of a broiling beefsteak the other day was more than he could
resist, so he managed to get his freedom by slipping his collar over
his head, and rushing into the kitchen, snatched the sizzling steak
and was out again before Findlay could collect his few wits, and get
across the room to stop him. The meat was so hot it burned his mouth,
and he howled from the pain, but drop it he did not until he was far
from the cook. This I consider very plucky in so young a dog! Findlay
ran after the little hound, yelling and swearing, and I ran after
Findlay to keep him from beating my dog. Of course we did not have
beefsteak that day, but, as I told Faye, it was entirely Findlay's
fault. He should have kept watch of things, and not made it possible
for Hal to kill himself by eating a whole big steak!
Yesterday, Lieutenant Golden came in to luncheon, and when we went in
the dining room I saw at once that things were wrong, very wrong. A
polished table is an unknown luxury down here, but fresh table linen
we do endeavor to have.
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