Nobby was well bred, but he had not
cost six hundred pounds. Always he looked his best, and his best was
extremely good. His many excellent points were set off by a most
attractive air and a singular charm and sprightliness of manner. Every
movement and pose was full of grace, and he had the brightest eyes that
I have ever seen. But Blue Bandala was clearly a "show" animal. Could
our little David beat this very Goliath among dogs, and that upon the
latter's own ground? Could our little amateur take on a plus-four
professional and beat him at his own game? There was no manner of doubt
that angels would at least have walked delicately where we had rushed
in. However, it was too late now. Even if we would, we could not draw
back. Beyond doing what we could to keep him as fit as a fiddle, there
was nothing to be done.
After a bath I put on a tweed suit, concealed my discarded and sole
surviving pair of white trousers from the rapacious eye of a random
housemaid, and descended to lunch.
An hour later Adele and Nobby and I were all in the Rolls, sailing along
the soft brown roads _en route_ for Fallow Hill.
It was a day of great loveliness, and the forest ways were one and all
beset with a rare glory.
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