“That’s true, all right. Mrs. Crump was unreasonable in such matters.”
“Crump himself, however, may be something else entirely. I have cause to know that he has recently been shedding inhibitions like mad, and there’s no reason to believe that he would impose restrictions on Senorita Fogarty that he ignores himself.”
“What cause?” said Junior, getting directly to the crux.
“Never mind what cause. It is sufficient to know that Crump will probably alter the established routine and put Senorita and the stud in the backyard together. Therefore, Junior, it is more important than ever that you remain on duty. I’ll expect you to be at your post tomorrow afternoon as usual.”
“I don’t want to go. It gets damn dull in that garden house.”
“Junior, you will resort to anything to get out of doing your part. You will go whether you want to or not, or suffer the consequences. And stay awake. I warn you that I may decide to make a surprise inspection, and it will be too bad if I find you taking a nap.”
And so, under such duress, Junior had appeared in good time, shortly after lunch, at the iron picket fence at the rear of Grandfather’s property. He vaulted the fence and scooted across the yard to a huge oak tree some fifteen feet away, where he took cover. After loitering behind the trunk for a few minutes, to determine if he had been observed or not, he made a dash for the garden house, perhaps another ten feet up the yard, and plunged through its narrow entrance into its murky, octagonal protection. The garden house was small and gave Junior an uneasy sense of claustrophobia, as well as a strong feeling, should someone appear suddenly in the entrance, of being caught like a rat in a trap. He had tried once to estimate the interior dimensions, but this had quickly become far too complex for someone who didn’t have the least idea of how to compute the area of an octagon, and he had given it up in favor of napping, which was less demanding.
The walls of the garden house were constructed of diagonal slats that crossed each other in a fancy style to give the effect of loose weaving. This created little diamond-shaped apertures through which light filtered, but it was impossible for anyone outside to see anyone inside. Moreover, if the eye was applied closely to an appropriate aperture, a good view could be had of the back of the house and of the yard between. It was, in brief, an ideal post for a spy, and Junior, eye to aperture, spied in good faith for fully ten minutes.
After five, Crump appeared with Senorita Fogarty on a leash. He fastened the leash to something that had been driven into the ground, and returned to the house. Senorita watered the grass and lay down in the sunshine. Junior watched and waited, expecting Crump to return, but Crump didn’t. Neither Crump nor Crump’s stud. If Crump was adopting the attitude of a libertine, as Hester had implied, he had obviously not yet reached the point of granting equal license to Chihuahuas.
Well, it was clearly another dry run. In spite of Hester’s unreasonable insistence, nothing was to be gained from looking through holes at nothing. He had come against his better judgment, which had been vindicated, and no one could fairly say that he had failed to do his part. Besides, his back was beginning to ache from bending over to spy. He straightened and stretched and sat down on a seat that was nothing more than some boards, braced beneath, that had been fitted and attached to seven of the octagon’s eight sides. The seat was far from comfortable, and pretty soon he decided to lie down for a minute or two, assuming that even Hester would not object to such a minor relaxation of discipline. Each section of the seat was too short to permit stretching out straight, and so he had to bend in the middle to lie at an angle, his legs along one side of the octagon and his trunk along another. To accomplish this, he had to lie on his left side, and it just happened that he was a left-side-sleeper. The position affected him like a soporific, and in less than three minutes, in spite of petty discomforts and the threat of a surprise inspection, he was digesting his lunch and whistling through his nose in perfect peace.
Thus Crump caught him. Alerted by a thin whinney while he was in the act of retrieving Senorita Fogarty, Crump followed the sound to its source, and there was Junior, as described, and pathetically vulnerable. A sharp rap on the shin brought him up instantly to the dreadful apparition of Crump in the entrance. Crump was holding at the ready position some kind of wicked weapon that looked like a giant corkscrew, and it took several seconds of adjustment before Junior recognized it as the special stake, available at pet shops and department stores everywhere, to which Senorita Fogarty’s leash was secured when she was put out to graze.
“Get up!” said Crump. “Get up and out, you young son of a bitch!”
Crump’s choice of terms had the adhesive effect of pulling Junior together. Such strong language, he felt, was wholly indefensible, and it put him, somehow, in a more favorable position. It was not that Junior was particularly sensitive about insults to Aunt Madge. It was merely that there were certain folk, after all, who lacked the status to be insulting. Crump, in short, had gone too far.
“Who are you calling a son of a bitch, you old son of a bitch?” he said.
“You know who. You’re who. What are you doing in my garden house?”
“Your garden house! Crump, you are an intolerable old scoundrel, and that’s for sure. It’s Grandfather’s garden house, and I have a perfect right to take a nap in it if I please.”
“Not while it’s in my custody, you don’t. You’re trespassing, that’s what, and if you don’t get out at once, I’ll run you through.”
He brandished the giant corkscrew, and Junior, having no desire to be opened like a bottle of champagne, backed away and began to sidle around the octagon. Out and away was what he wanted, and he had some idea of slipping past Crump and getting there as fast as possible.
“Back off, Crump!” he said. “Stab me with that infernal thing, and you’ll be in more trouble than you can handle.”
“You’re a spy, that’s what you are. You came here to spy on me, and I know it. I’ve got the right to stab a spy on my own property.”
Junior, now in position to spurt past Crump and escape, did not linger to debate either rights or ownership. With a sudden shout, calculated to distract Crump and disrupt any planned attack, he spurted and escaped. Vaulting the back fence, he trotted around the block to the street that passed in front of Grandfather’s house, thankful to be free and unperforated. He was not yet out of danger, however, for along the sidewalk, walking swiftly from the direction of Grandfather’s house, came Hester. Junior did not see her until they had come almost together at the corner, and so it was too late to retreat and take cover, as he would have otherwise have done. She was carrying, he noticed, a large leather handbag that seemed to be bulging with something.
“Junior,” she said, “why are you trotting around the block? Aren’t you supposed to be on duty in the garden house? Go to your post at once.”
“I’ve been there,” he said.
“Well, then, go back.”
“I can’t. Crump caught me, and I was lucky to escape with my life.”
“In my opinion, it would have been no great loss to anybody if you hadn’t. How did he happen to catch you? Were you sleeping again?”
“Not at all,” he said, making a King’s X behind his back. “Crump slipped up behind me, the crafty old devil, and had me cornered before I knew it.”
“Junior, I might have known that you would make a mess of things. You are incapable of completing the simplest assignment successfully. Well, you are of no use here any longer, and so you had just as well come along with me.”
He fell in beside her, and they walked along. Her treatment of him had not been nearly so severe as he had feared, and she appeared to be, actually, in quite a good humor.