Archie, reasoning closely, "woman can't come into breakfast here and
be rehearsing in New York at the same time. Why did she administer the
raspberry, old friend?"

Mr. Benham helped himself to fish-pie, and spoke dully through the
steam.

"Well, what happened was this. Knowing her as intimately as you do--"

"I DON'T know her!"

"Well, anyway, it was like this. As you know, she has a dog--"

"I didn't know she had a dog," protested Archie. It seemed to him that
the world was in conspiracy to link him with this woman.

"Well, she has a dog. A beastly great whacking brute of a bulldog. And
she brings it to rehearsal." Mr. Benham's eyes filled with tears, as
in his emotion he swallowed a mouthful of fish-pie some eighty-three
degrees Fahrenheit hotter than it looked. In the intermission caused by
this disaster his agile mind skipped a few chapters of the story, and,
when he was able to speak again, he said, "So then there was a lot of
trouble. Everything broke loose!"

"Why?" Archie was puzzled. "Did the management object to her bringing
the dog to rehearsal?"

"A lot of good that would have done! She does what she likes in the
theatre."

"Then why was there trouble?"

"You weren't listening," said Mr. Benham, reproachfully. "I told you.
This dog came snuffling up to where I was sitting--it was quite dark in
the body of the theatre, you know--and I got up to say something about
something that was happening on the stage, and somehow I must have given
it a push with my foot."

"I see," said Archie, beginning to get the run of the plot. "You kicked
her dog."

"Pushed it. Accidentally. With my foot."

"I understand. And when you brought off this kick--"

"Push," said Mr. Benham, austerely.

"This kick or push. When you administered this kick or push--"

"It was more a sort of light shove."

"Well, when you did whatever you did, the trouble started?"

Mr. Benham gave a slight shiver.

"She talked for a while, and then walked out, taking the dog with her.
You see, this wasn't the first time it had happened."

"Good Lord! Do you spend your whole time doing that sort of thing?"

"It wasn't me the first time. It was the stage-manager. He didn't know
whose dog it was, and it came waddling on to the stage, and he gave it a
sort of pat, a kind of flick--"

"A slosh?"

"NOT a slosh," corrected Mr. Benham, firmly. "You might call it a
tap--with the promptscript. Well, we had a lot of difficulty smoothing