“That don’t cut no ice down here,” was the reply. “If he was the son of the Colonel himself, he wouldn’t get them quarters with his salary. You’re in the same house now with a high-priced man, so I don’t see what yer kickin’ about.”
“It is evident you don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mrs. Fairfax in bewilderment. “Why, the people who occupy the other part of the house are common—positively vulgar. I must get another house; I cannot live there. I shall come again when the Quartermaster is in.”
So, without even a good-afternoon, she hurried home to find that “Prosit,” Svenska’s dog, had picked a quarrel with “Ferdinand De Lesseps,” the Boston terrier. In the combat the plebian “Prosit,” having no fine sense of honor nor any regard for the rules of war, had treacherously nipped off “Ferdinand’s” tail. “Ferdinand,” though a courageous beast, could not bear this indignity, so had left the field in possession of his vulgar antagonist. Then, too, Mrs. Svenska’s much-patched clothing was hanging, as usual, on the porch. There was an array of socks of huge dimensions, hickory shirts and piebald khaki trousers, all of which greatly offended the aesthetic taste of the dainty Mrs. Fairfax. So she sought Mrs. Svenska, and requested that lady to take her clothing from the line and to chain up that brute “Prosit.” “I beg pardon,” began Mrs. Fairfax, when her neighbor appeared at the door, “that dog of yours has bitten off my dog Ferdinand’s’ tail.”
“Veil,” answered Mrs. Svenska, “dat bane a gude yob. My Oscar, he bane pay two dollar gold to a faller in Sout’ Brooklyn fer trimmin’ up our own bulldog’s tail. Such dogs ain’t in style mid tails. Anyhow, vy you not stay home an’ mind yer dog? You ain’t got no bizness in dese quarters—your man is nuttin’ but a penpusher mit a hundred dollars, and my Oscar, he make two hundred, an’ you tink you are better as we are.”
As Mrs. Svenska finished speaking she shook her fist in Mrs. Fairfax’s face, which belligerent gesture so frightened the latter that she rushed from the door and fell on her own doorstep in a dead faint. This, of course, attracted the attention of a passer-by, and soon a curious crowd assembled. In the crowd there chanced to be one of that slick class of individuals known as “gumshoe” men. He stood and looked on and said nothing, but what he thought would fill a big book. Mrs. Svenska did not appear to make an explanation, and no one in the crowd made a move to help the unfortunate woman. The “gumshoe” man pulled a little notebook from his inside pocket and jotted down the following: “Woman found on doorstep of House No. —— in stupefied condition * * *.”
Now, the district physician put in an appearance, and in a few minutes Mrs. Fairfax had revived sufficiently to sit up and take notice. Her first thought was of her poor maimed dog, and she said, with what voice she could muster: “Oh, where did he go?”
“Who?” said the “gumshoe” man, stepping forward eagerly.
“ ‘Ferdinand,’ ” weakly replied the poor woman, sinking down upon the step and bursting into sobs.
The physician, with a sad expression on his face, ordered an officer to escort Mrs. Fairfax to her rooms, and the “gumshoe” man wrote: “Drugged by some one named ‘Ferdinand’—a lover, probably—drinking together. Husband, clerk—decent fellow. Mystery here—woman needs watching—got no friends among the women—keeps to herself.”
Carefully tucking his little book in the inside pocket, near his heart (for there is nothing dearer to these gentry than to get “something on” a married woman), he joined the policeman as the latter came from the house, shaking his head mysteriously.