Marshal Crow held up his hand as if stopping traffic in Main Street.
"You are in the presence of the law, Mr. Wolf," he began. The young woman giggled. He glared at her.
"My name is Fox," said the young man, curtly.
"That don't make any difference," retorted the Marshal. "Mine's Crow, and I represent the law. You—"
"How delicious!" said Mrs. Fox. "So like that cunning poem of Guy Wetmore Carryl's. You know it, of course, Mr. Crow?"
She declaimed:
"'I blush to add that when the bird
Took in the situation
He said one brief, emphatic word,
Unfit for publication.
The fox was greatly startled, but
He only sighed and answered "tut"'"
"Don't be silly, Bess," said her husband. "This is no time to recite poetry."
"I don't see any sense in it, anyhow," said Marshal Crow.
Mr. Fryback emerged from behind the cutlery counter, whither he had repaired in some haste when it became evident that Mrs. Fox was likely to remain for some time. He was wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and what very recently might have been mistaken for a prodigious swelling in his cheek had strangely subsided.