“It smell like New Haven Railroad burning dividends six miles away,” I say with syrup voice.
One day, my Cousin Nogi give me sweethearted gift of one valuable cigar, price 5c. cash-money. I nourish this dear tobacco very carefully in pocket and await till late night-hour when I could smoke him in my room & think of my ancestors. So I lock door, open window and do so. In midst of puffs I hear something.
Knock-knock! This noise by Hon. Door. I unlock lock and gaze outside to where Hon. Mrs. Fogg was there with kimono & pale eyebrows.
“Some odor is burning in this house!” she gollup.
“What perfume of smell do it resemble?” I ask it.
“It resemble a fire among dry goods,” she gubble.
“Be calmly quiet,” I negotiate. “The smell you heard was merely only slight gift-cigar I smoke in honor of my Cousin Nogi.”
“I would avoid such a cousin,” she snib with nose. “Blow out gas and go to bed at oncely!”
I could hear her peevishness by her feet as they walked.
It were nice, balmish evening of summer weather when Mrs. and Mr. Chas Hassock, neighborly persons of quiet fashion, was there to play bridge-gamble amidst society clothing. Hon. Mr. Fogg, medium gentleman with tame whiskers, were also there acting like a husbandman.