" Cries of
"Shame!" greeted this remark. I decided that it was time to interpose.
With all the severity at my command I bade the wretch be silent.
"Fellow dogs," I said, "it is clear that we must choose here and now,
once and for all, between Britishism and Bolshevism. Tails up those
who wish to remain British!" And of course every tail went up. "Tails
up, the Bolshevists!" But the Borzoi's was down beyond recall and
shivering between his legs. "That being your decision, ladies and
gentlemen," I continued, "the meeting will constitute itself a
Committee of Safety. Remarks have been passed about your Chairman
and the canine forces of His Majesty that cannot be allowed to go
unchallenged. All I ask is plenty of room and no favour."
All this time the Borzoi had been edging towards the door, and I
really think he would have tried to make a dash for it, only at the
last minute he caught the eye of the Irish wolfhound. It's no good
running away from a dog like that, so Bolshy decided to stay and face
the music. Well, as I said before, we war dogs are supposed to be as
modest as we are brave, so I will confine myself to saying that down
our way Bolshevism hasn't a leg to stand on.
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