As he came to rest before the window the creature leaped forward with
joyous madness, reared two clumsy white feet against the glass (those
feet that seemed to have been meant for a larger dog), barked ably--he
could hear it even above the din of an elevated train--and then fell to
a frantic licking of the glass where Bean had provocatively spread a
hand. Perceiving this intimacy to be thwarted by some mysterious barrier
to be felt but not seen, he backed away, fell forward upon his chest,
the too-big paws outspread, and smiled from a vasty pink cavern. Between
the stiffened ears could be seen the crooked tail, tinged with just
enough of the brown, in unbelievably swift motion. Discovering this pose
to bring no desired result, he ran mad in the sawdust, excavating it
feverishly with his forepaws, sending it expertly to the rear with the
others.
The fever passed; he surveyed his admirer for a moment, then began to
revolve slowly upon all four feet until he had made in the sawdust a bed
that suited him. Into this he sank and was instantly asleep, his
slenderness coiled, the heavy head at rest on a paw, one ear drooping
wearily, the other still erect.
For two weeks this daily visit had been almost the best of Bean's
secrets. For two weeks he had known that his passion was hopeless, yet
had he yearned out his heart there before the endearing thing. In the
shock of his first discovery, spurred to unwonted daring, he had
actually penetrated the store meaning to hear the impossible price.
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