That decided me to call him "Garin of the Bloody Breast," who was a great person in his time, or "Garm" for short; so, leaning forward, I told him what his temporary name would be.
When I went to the back verandah Vixen had been washed snowy-white, and was very proud of herself, but the dog-boy would not touch Garm on any account unless I stood by.
"Garm," I said, "another time you will be washed with Vixen."
Vixen knowing the routine of it, went to sleep under my table; but the confinement ate into Garm's soul.
Sometimes a company of soldiers would move along on their way to the Fort, and Garm rolled forth to inspect them; or an officer in uniform entered into the office, and it was pitiful to see poor Garm's welcome to the cloth--not the man.
I pretended not to notice, but Garm knew and Vixen knew.
One afternoon I sent Vixen home alone in the dog-cart (Garm had gone before), and rode over to cantonments to find another friend of mine, who was an Irish soldier and a great friend of the dog's master.
Garm slept ill that night and whimpered in his dreams.
So he went over to my house in his dog-cart with the retriever; and on the way I told him the story of Garm.
There was a place close to the wall all grown about with tamarisk trees, where I knew Garm kept his bones.
I could hear him holding Garm's nose as the dog threw it up to the stars.
The last train to camp left at half-past ten, and Stanley, stayed till ten talking to Garm. I argued and entreated, and even threatened to shoot the bull-terrier, bat the little man was as firm as a rock, though I gave him a good dinner and talked to him most severely.