Seventeen eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 268 pages of information about Seventeen.

“I expect I gave that big mongrel the fright of his life,” said Mr. Watson, with complacency.  “He’ll probably run a mile!”

The shoulders of Genesis shook as he was towed along by the convulsive tub.  He knew from previous evidence that Clematis possessed both a high quality and a large quantity of persistence, and it was his hilarious opinion that the dog had not gone far.  As a matter of fact, the head of Clematis was at this moment cautiously extended from behind the fence-post at the corner whither he had fled.  Viewing with growing assurance the scene before him, he permitted himself to emerge wholly, and sat down, with his head tilted to one side in thought.  Almost at the next corner the clothes-boiler with legs, and the wash-tubs, and Genesis were marching on; and just behind them went three figures not so familiar to Clematis, and connected in his mind with a vague, mild apprehension.  But all backs were safely toward him, and behind them pattered that small live thing which had so profoundly interested him.

He rose and came on apace, silently.

When he reached the side of Flopit, some eight or nine seconds later, Clematis found himself even more fascinated and perplexed than during their former interview, though again Flopit seemed utterly to disregard him.  Clematis was not at all sure that Flopit was a dog, but he felt that it was his business to find out.  Heaven knows, so far, Clematis had not a particle of animosity in his heart, but he considered it his duty to himself—­in case Flopit turned out not to be a dog—­to learn just what he was.  The thing might be edible.

Therefore, again pacing obliquely beside Flopit (while the human beings ahead went on, unconscious of the approaching climax behind them) Clematis sought to detect, by senses keener than sight, some evidence of Flopit’s standing in the zoological kingdom; and, sniffing at the top of Flopit’s head—­though Clematis was uncertain about its indeed being a head—­he found himself baffled and mentally much disturbed.

Flopit did not smell like a dog; he smelled of violets.



Clematis frowned and sneezed as the infinitesimal particles of sachet powder settled in the lining of his nose.  He became serious, and was conscious of a growing feeling of dislike; he began to be upset over the whole matter.  But his conscience compelled him to persist in his attempt to solve the mystery; and also he remembered that one should be courteous, no matter what some other thing chooses to be.  Hence he sought to place his nose in contact with Flopit’s, for he had perceived on the front of the mysterious stranger a buttony something which might possibly be a nose.

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Seventeen from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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