The dog, a white-haired mongrel, somewhat of the pug order, was a little like its master; its face was curiously similar, with a little nose and tiny eyes and an enormous mouth.
“Let me introduce you,” said Tony. “Punch, this is a friend of mine, Mr. Maradick. Maradick, this is my friend and counsellor, Punch; and, oh, yes, there’s Toby. Let me introduce you, Toby. Mr. Maradick—Toby. Toby—Mr. Maradick!”
The little man held out an enormous hand, the dog gravely extended a paw. Maradick shook both.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” he said. “Tony has told me about you.”
“Thank you, sir, I’m sure,” the man answered; “I’m very pleased to meet _you_, sir.”
There was a pause, and they sat down on the sand with their backs against the rocks.
“Well, Punch,” said Tony, “how’s the show? I haven’t seen you since Thursday.”
“Oh, the _show’s_ all right,” he answered. “There’s never no fear about that. My public’s safe enough as long as there’s children and babies, which, nature being what it is, there’ll always be. It’s a mighty pleasant thing having a public that’s always going on, and it ain’t as if there was any chance of their tastes changing either. Puppies and babies and kittens like the same things year in and year out, bless their little hearts.”
“You have a Punch and Judy show, haven’t you?” said Maradick a little stiffly. He was disgusted at his stiffness, but he felt awkward and shy. This wasn’t the kind of fellow that he’d ever had anything to do with before; he could have put his hand into his pocket and given him a shilling and been pleasant enough about it, but this equality was embarrassing. Tony obviously didn’t feel it like that, but then Tony was young.
“Yes, sir; Punch and Judy shows are getting scarce, what with yer cinematographs and pierrots and things. But there’s always customers for ’em and always will be. And it’s more than babies like ’em really. Many’s the time I’ve seen old gentlemen and fine ladies stop and watch when they think no one’s lookin’ at ’em, and the light comes into their eyes and the colour into their cheeks, and then they think that some one sees ’em and they creep away. It’s natural to like Punch; it’s the banging, knock-me-down kind of humour that’s the only genuine sort. And then the moral’s tip-top. He’s always up again, Punch is, never knows when he’s beat, and always smiling.”