“I haf baan in dis kontry sax yahr and sax monts. My name is Sven Svenson, and my brodder’s garl varks for Mrs. Arnold. Ganral Arnold eats plaanty he-oeystar and owes me tan pound starling. Mrs. Arnold haf a strang tongue and talks to the Ganral to yump his yob and vark for dee Angleesh.”
Barclugh smiled and left Sven still eager to tell more, showing unconcern by hastily departing, yet when walking briskly along he thought to himself:
“The Swede loves money and his knowledge must be mine. Arnold can not long resist his wife and my offers too.”
CHAPTER VIII
After the dinner party at the FitzMaurice’s, the next morning was ominous with sullen clouds in the Arnold homestead. The servants were gliding from room to room in sober mien; conversations were carried on in whispers. The Madam was served with breakfast in her room, and the General had no appetite. The office of the Commandant of Philadelphia was streaked with strata of dark blue vitriolic language.
The first caller was Sven Svenson, who approached the sentinel before the General’s office door. The two fell into conversation.
“Haf Ganral Arnold been up?” asked Sven as he came near the sentinel, with his hat in his hand.
“I reckon not, Sven, he was mighty weak-kneed when he came home last night,” was the sentinel’s reply.