"Carstairs!" he called now. "Oh, Carstairs!"

Carstairs came in through the bedroom door and stared at him with a sort of wearily resigned disgust. Carstairs was a dog – a fawn-colored Great Dane as big as a yearling calf.

"Carstairs," said Doan, "I apologize for my regrettable condition last evening."

Carstairs’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. Carstairs was a champion, and he had a long and imposing list of very high-class ancestors. He was fond of Doan in a well-bred way, but he had never been able to reconcile himself to having such a low person for a master. Whenever they went out for a stroll together, Carstairs always walked either far behind or ahead, so no one would suspect his relationship with Doan.

– Norbert Davis

“Do you know a man whose name isn’t Smith and who doesn’t wear dark glasses and doesn’t have black eyebrows or a black mustache or a pot-belly and who isn’t a friend of mine?”

Davis killed himself via carbon monoxide poisoning in 1949.