“If sassiety had one head, and master had a gun, I wouldn’t leave him alone in the room with it,” remarked Gringo shortly.
“Don’t say ‘sassiety,’ Gringo,” I corrected. “Say ‘society.’”
He growled it over in his throat several times, and at last got it right.
I was intensely interested in this affair, so I pushed my enquiries further. “Does Miss Stanna know that your master likes her for herself alone, and not because she belongs to a good old New York family?”
“Can you fool a woman?” said Gringo scornfully. “She knows all about it, and more too—but poor mister, he’s in the dark. He thinks she’s marrying him for his money, and he’s wondering whether she’ll ever be willing to leave her gang for him.”
“Why doesn’t she tell him?”
“He wouldn’t believe her now. You just hold on, she’ll work that out for herself—I wish they’d get married. I’m having the dickens of a time in an uptown hotel. The dogs are enough to make you sick.”
“Are you coming to live in this Sweeney house after the wedding?”
“You bet, and I’ll be glad to get up where it’s open, but I say, old fellow, give us a helping hand with these dogs up here, will you? Are they very stuck-up?”