The Foot of Time: A Novel of Australia and the South Seas: (1933)

CHAPTER XXVI.
"THE UNCONQUERABLE WILL."
IT was summer, and to escape the humid heat of
Vaucluse, Clare was putting in three months at her
week-end home at Hazelbrook in the Blue Mountains.
Bruce had been home with her for Christmas,
but had now returned to his bachelor flat in
the heart of the city, leaving her alone with Bruno.
Between his work in the shipyards and study in his
flat, Bruce paid occasional visits to Manly, where,
through the sympathetic contrivances of Florence
Tooth, the lovers, at all too irregular intervals,
could meet.
Clare had been tending her pretty mountain garden,
and had gone inside, leaving Bruno out.
Picking up an old dated newspaper, with which
to cover some flowers, intended evidently for
a friend, a piece of shipping intelligence caught
her eye. It appeared to vex, and also greatly agitate
her. Bruno came inside, and with the intuition
of his race, rubbed his nose against her. Something
had upset his mistress. The monstrous brute
sat down on his haunches and pawed the air invitingly.
"Dear old boy, then!" said Clare. "You
know how I feel, don't you?" Clare then proceeded
to kiss the top of the great head, which, being to
THE FOOT OF TIME 259
Bruno's mind sufficient consolation for any mortal,
he stepped majestically across the little room and
out again into the garden.
Presently he cocked up one ear. A huge car was
softly purring its way down the lane, the driver
occupant on the lookout for some house so far unknown
to him.
The car drew up at View Cottage, and Bruno let
out a low, deep growl, then stood erect across the
path, barring the way. The traveller got down
from his car, opened the gate, and with firm, confident
tread and the assurance of a demi-god, walked
up to the hound. Bruno could have given the coupde-grace
to two of him, big though he was. The
visitor put out his hand, inviting its prompt amputation,
passed the palm of it on to the great lionlike
head, and had the audacious effrontery to keep
it there. The indifferent fearlessness of it "took
the wind out of Bruno's sails," and kept it out.
"Now, you're what I call a dog," boomed a deep,
reverberating voice, "there are no half-larks about
you. How do you do, old fellow? Glad to meet
you."
Bruno recognised a master when he met one, a
curious droop of his tail indicated acknowledgment.
Slipping his hand down to the animal's neck and
exerting a slight forward pressure, Bruno received
dumb command that he was expected to do the
honours, and effect the introduction. Curious
thing, but the feel of this man's heavy hand reminded
him of his young master.
Now this was the way of it.