“My husband is sick in bed. We had the doctor for him this morning. And while it probably isn’t a case of smallpox, still the doctor thought it would be wise to put up a quarantine sign. You might not have noticed it.”
“I swan!” exclaimed the man, getting his eyes on the sign. Then he turned to the kid. “Guess, Sonny, this changes things considerable.”
“It’s a trick!” danced young fatty. “Don’t let her fool you.”
After a look at puggy-nose, which showed plainly enough what she thought of him, the woman turned to the officer.
“There’s a ’phone in the house,” says she. “And if you wish, you can call up Dr. Madden of Neponset Corners and verify my story. Or,” dryly, “if you care to run the risk, you can go up to the sick room and see the invalid for yourself. But if he coaxes you to scratch the purple blotches on his back, please don’t do it. For, as I just told you, it may be catching.”
The man was eager enough to get away.
“Your word’s good with me, ma’am,” says he, backing off.
But bulldog-face wasn’t going to give up his bone without a scrap.
“Dumb-bell!” he screeched. “Don’t you know your onions? It’s a trick, I tell you. And if you don’t call her bluff, and put her out of here, my father’ll fix you.”
The man didn’t like that, but he hung onto his temper.