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Daisy had plenty. If Charlie married her, he would never have to worry about money again. She naturally did not say so, but she guessed Charlie was thinking it, and she let the thought hang unspoken in the air for as long as possible.
Eventually Charlie said: "Did your father really have those two union organizers beaten up?"
"What a strange idea!" Daisy did not know whether Lev Peshkov had done any such thing, but in truth it would not have surprised her.
"The men who came from New York to take over the strike," Charlie persisted. "They were hospitalized. The Sentinel says they quarreled with local union leaders, but everyone thinks your father was responsible."
"I never talk about politics," Daisy said gaily. "When did you get your first dog?"
Charlie began a long reminiscence. Daisy considered what to do next. I've got him here, she thought, and put him at ease; now I have to get him aroused. But stroking the dog suggestively had unnerved him. What they needed was some casual physical contact.
"What should I do next with Rusty?" she asked when Charlie had finished his stor
y.
"Teach him to walk to heel," Charlie said promptly.
"How do you do that?"
"Do you have some dog biscuits?"
"Sure." The kitchen windows were open, and Daisy raised her voice so that the maid could hear her. "Ella, would you kindly bring me that box of Milk-Bones?"
Charlie broke up one of the biscuits, then took the dog on his lap. He held a piece of biscuit in his closed fist, letting Rusty sniff it, then opened his hand and allowed the dog to eat the morsel. He took another piece, making sure the dog knew he had it. Then he stood up and put the dog at his feet. Rusty kept an alert gaze on Charlie's closed fist. "Walk to heel!" Charlie said, and walked a few steps.
The dog followed him.
"Good boy!" Charlie said, and gave Rusty the biscuit.
"That's amazing!" Daisy said.
"After a while you won't need the biscuit--he'll do it for a pat. Then eventually he'll do it automatically."
"Charlie, you are a genius!"
Charlie looked pleased. He had nice brown eyes, just like the dog, she observed. "Now you try," he said to Daisy.
She copied what Charlie had done, and achieved the same result.
"See?" said Charlie. "It's not so hard."
Daisy laughed with delight. "We should go into business," she said. "Farquharson and Peshkov, dog trainers."
"What a nice idea," he said, and he seemed to mean it.
This is going very well, Daisy thought.
She went to the table and poured two glasses of lemonade.
Standing beside her, he said: "I'm usually a bit shy with girls."
No kidding, she thought, but she kept her mouth firmly closed.
"But you're so easy to talk to," he went on. He imagined that was a happy accident.
As she handed a glass to him she fumbled, spilling lemonade on him. "Oh, how clumsy!" she cried.
"It's nothing," he said, but the drink had wetted his linen blazer and his white cotton trousers. He pulled out a handkerchief and began to mop it.
