The Man with Two Left Feet by P. G. Wodehouse Page A

felt so small in my life, and I was glad when it was over and Peter took me off to the stables.
    I was just feeling that I never wanted to see another dog in my life, when a terrier ran out, shouting. As soon as he saw me, he came up inquiringly, walking very stiff-legged, as terriers do when they see a stranger.
    â€˜Well,’ I said, ‘and what particular sort of a prize-winner are you? Tell me all about the ribbons they gave you at the Crystal Palace, and let’s get it over.’
    He laughed in a way that did me good.
    â€˜Guess again!’ he said. ‘Did you take me for one of the nuts in the kennels? My name’s Jack, and I belong to one of the grooms.’
    â€˜What!’ I cried. ‘You aren’t Champion Bowlegs Royal or anything of that sort! I’m glad to meet you.’
    So we rubbed noses as friendly as you please. It was a treat meeting one of one’s own sort. I had had enough of those high-toned dogs who look at you as if you were something the garbage man had forgotten to take away.
    â€˜So you’ve been talking to the swells, have you?’ said Jack.
    â€˜He would take me,’ I said, pointing to Peter.
    â€˜Oh, you’re his latest, are you? Then you’re all right—while it lasts.’
    â€˜How do you mean, while it lasts?’
    â€˜Well, I’ll tell you what happened to me. Young Peter took a great fancy to me once. Couldn’t do enough for me for a while. Then he got tired of me, and out I went. You see, the trouble is that while he’s a perfectly good kid, he has always had everything he wanted since he was born, and he gets tired of things pretty easy. It was a toy railway that finished me. Directly he got that, I might not have been on the earth. It was lucky for me that Dick, my present old man, happened to want a dog to keep down the rats, or goodness knows what might not have happened to me. They aren’t keen on dogs here unless they’ve pulled down enough blue ribbons to sink a ship, and mongrels like you and me—no offence—don’t last long. I expect you noticed that the grown-ups didn’t exactly cheer when you arrived?’
    â€˜They weren’t chummy.’
    â€˜Well take it from me, your only chance is to make them chummy. If you do something to please them, they might let you stay on, even though Peter was tired of you.’
    â€˜What sort of thing?’
    â€˜That’s for you to think out. I couldn’t find one. I might tell you to save Peter from drowning. You don’t need a pedigree to do that. But you can’t drag the kid to the lake and push him in. That’s the trouble. A dog gets so few opportunities. But, take it from me, if you don’t do something within two weeks to make yourself solid with the adults, you can make your will. In two weeks Peter will have forgotten all about you. It’s not his fault. It’s the way he has been brought up. His father has all the money on earth, and Peter’s the only child. You can’t blame him. All I say is, look out for yourself. Well, I’m glad to have met you. Drop in again when you can. I can give you some good ratting, and I have a bone or two put away. So long.’
    It worried me badly what Jack had said. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. If it hadn’t been for that, I should have had a great time, for Peter certainly made a lot of fuss of me. He treated me as if I were the only friend he had.
    And, in a way, I was. When you are the only son of a man who has all the money in the world, it seems that you aren’t allowed to be like an ordinary kid. They coop you up, as if you were something precious that would be contaminated by contact with other children. In all the time that I was at the house I never met another child. Peter had everything in the world, except someone of his own age to go round with; and that made him different from any of the kids I had known.
    He liked talking to