Of course Master, when
he saw my ear, pretended to be angry, but he knows a war dog doesn't
fight except for his country, and when the Borzoi's owner came round
next day to complain Master told him he was a miserable Pacifist and
had no _locus standi_. I told Master afterwards that the Borzoi had no
_loci standi_ either, because I'd jolly well nearly chewed them off;
and he laughed and gave me a whole cutlet with a lot of delicious meat
on it, saying he wasn't hungry himself.
Of course we dogs met again and adopted the rest of our platform; and
I don't mind saying I kept a pretty tight grip on the proceedings.
In fact, several resolutions, such as those dealing with "Municipal
Dog's-meat," "Rabbits in Regent's Park," "The Prosecution of
Untruthful Parlourmaids," "Shorter Fur and Longer Legs," were carried
without discussion. Naturally the meetings concluded with a vote of
thanks to the Chair, to which I replied (they tell me) felicitously.
That is how the War Dogs' Party came into being; and to-morrow I shall
tell that little terrier fellow from No. 10, Downing Street, that as
long as his master remains faithful to the Dog-in-the-Street the War
Dogs' Party will remain faithful to him.
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