At eleven o'clock one morning, they were all gathered round Mrs. Hallett's tea-table--Gay, Berlie, Mrs. Hading, and several men, for 11 A.M. is the "off" hour in Rhodesia, when everyone leaves his business, if he has any, to take tea in the pleasantest society he can find. At Wankelo, most people sallied forth to the lounge of the "Falcon," the club-room of the town, where morning tea was a ceremony, almost a rite.
Someone had just remarked on the prolonged absence of Lundi Druro when his car rolled up to the door, and, a moment later he strolled in and came over to the circle of tea-drinkers, cool and peaceful in their white clothes and shady hats. Unfortunately, his dog, Toby, chose this as a suitable occasion for saying a few pleasant words to Gay's dog, Weary. In a moment chairs were being pushed out of the way; teacups and scones and buttered toast were flying in every direction; men were tangled up with a revolving, growling mass of black and brown fur, and half a dozen feminine voices were crying pitifully:
"Oh, save Toby!" "Don't let Weary kill him!" "Poor little Toby, he has no teeth!"
Toby was not the dog Druro had fished out of the Lundi River--to that bull-terrier there had been many successors, and all had come to bad and untimely ends. Druro, indeed, had sworn that he would never acquire another dog; but Toby had sprung from none knew whence and acquired him. He was a little black, limping fellow of no breed at all, whose eyes had grown filmy from long gazing at Lundi Druro as if he were a sun-god or something that dazzled the vision. He usually carried a sacrificial offering in the shape of an enormous stone culled on his travels, and, with this in his mouth, would sit for hours, gazing at his god playing poker or otherwise engaged. The only time he relinquished this stone was when he had a fight on hand, a rather frequent occurrence, as his perpetual limp and partially chewed-off ears testified. For, though his teeth were worn away by the stone-habit, he had a soul of steel and was afraid of nothing in the dog line. Gay's dog was one of those from whom he would stand no nonsense, and they never met without attempting to settle their feud for once and all. Druro usually settled it by banging Weary on the nose until he let go, for the latter was a powerful beast, and if allowed to work his wicked way, Toby would not have had a hope. But today, for some reason known to himself, Druro had an objection to hitting Gay's dog and contented himself with wrenching Weary's jaws apart, a dangerous and not very easy feat to accomplish. Weary, however, came in for several sound kicks and cuffs from other directions, and his mistress was in by no means an angelic frame of mind by the time she had her champion safe back between her knees, held by his collar.