The Whistle
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Mrs. Penwin gave one of her nervous little screams when she saw the dog.
'Oh, Charlie!' she cried. 'You surely haven't bought it!' and her little brow, that she tried so fiercely to keep smooth, puckered into its customary little gathering of wrinkles.
The dog, taking an instant dislike to her, sank his head between his shoulders. He was an Alsatian.
'Well . . .' said Charlie, smiling nervously. He knew that his impulsiveness had led him once more astray. 'Only the other evening you were saying that you'd like a dog.'
'Yes, but not an Alsatian! You know what Alsatians are. We read about them in the paper every day. They are simply not to be trusted. I'm sure he looks as vicious as anything. And what about Mopsa?'
'Oh, Mopsa . . .' Charlie hesitated. 'He'll be al
