CHAPTER 26

 That's a dog that'll never bother you with catching cold."

"I think it's cute," said Mrs. Foster enthusiastically. "How much is it?"

"That dog?" He looked at it admiringly. "That dog will cost you ten dollars."

The airedale—undoubtedly an airedale was involved somewhere despite its startlingly white feet—changed hands and settled into Mrs. Foster's lap, where she caressed the weather-proof coat with rapture.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" she asked delicately.

"That dog? That dog's a boy."

"It's a bitch," said Max decisively. "Here's your money. Go and buy ten more dogs with it."

We drove over to Fifth Avenue, so warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the summer Sunday afternoon that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a great flock of white sheep turn the corner.

"Hold on," I said, "I have to leave you here."

"No, you don't," Max quickly interjected. "Sophie will be hurt if you don't come up to the apartment. Won't you, Sophie?"

"Come on," she urged. "I'll call my sister Catherine. People who know say she's very beautiful."

"Well, I'd like to, but—"

We continued, cutting back over the park toward the West Hundreds. At 158th Street, the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of apartment houses. Casting a regal glance