228 IN AFRICA 



All and J. T. Jr. surrounded by the affable Little 

 Wanderobo Dog. 



It is little wonder that friendship soon ripened 

 into love, and that we all became speedily and ir- 

 revocably attached to the little swamp angel. His 

 presence in any gathering was like a benediction of 

 good cheer, and when his tail was in full swing he 

 looked like a golden jubilee. As I say, it was no 

 wonder we liked him, and I think I may also say, 

 without flattering ourselves, that the sentiment was 

 reciprocated. I don't believe the joy he showed at 

 all times could have been assumed. It must have 

 been pure joy, without alloy. 



His table manners were above reproach. He 

 would never grab or show unseemly greed. He 

 awaited our pleasure and each bone or chop that fell 

 his way was received with every token of mute but 

 eloquent gratitude. You were constantly made to 

 feel that he loved you for yourself and not for what 

 he hoped you would give him. If I were to be 

 wrecked on a desert island, I believe there is hardly 

 more than one person that I'd prefer to have as my 

 sole companion than Little Wanderobo Dog. 



Perhaps a few words about the architecture of 

 the little dog might not come amiss. He was built 

 somewhat on the lines of the German renaissance, 

 being low and rakish like a dachshund, but with just 

 a little more freeboard than the dachshund. His 

 legs were straight instead of bowed, as are those of 

 his distinguished German cousin. His ears were 

 hardly as pendulous, being rather more trenchant 



