Bridge-card resume for several hours while those 4 persons sat there calling each other “Trumps” and other American insults.
O suddenly!! what was that my nose smelled? Inflammatory smell of fire!!
With iced brain I recall what “First Ade to Fires” said about mad chimbleys, so I rosh silently to outside house to see how ours were behaving. O surely yes! Hon. Chimbley were shooting sparkles & pin-wheels from his enraged bricks!
What I do then? With immediate quickness, I rosh to dining-room and grab 2 salt-sellers in my courageous thumbs. Making my toes extremely swift, I clomb ladder to roof & scramble along shingles with care peculiar to Thos. Cats. Then, by heroic movements of wrists, I pepper considerable salt straight into the face of that mad Chimbley. Yet he still continue on making Vesuvius out of himself.
What nextly must I do? I think of that fire-volume which say, “Human folks must be saved before all other furniture.”
So I scomper to bed-room, dragg forth one complete blanket & soush him in wet water of bath-tub. With these blanket held in my firm knuckles, I ascended downstairs to parlor where Hon. Mrs. Fogg set in her marcel hair and considerable expensive face-powder calling Mrs. Hassock a “Renig” in bridge-language.
With wetness of blanket, I stand behind Hon. Mrs. Fogg.
“What for?” she holla when she seen me. But before anything else could collapse, I wound wettish blanket round her head.
“Gog!” she report with strangely voice. Yet, before she could narrate more, I had drogged her forthly to fresh air.
“What is the meaning of this meanness?” require Hon. Fogg.