He must have served his time as a court interpreter.
"You might send me a pound of paralysed sugar," she said.
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"Yes'm. What else?"
"A couple of cans of condemned milk."
"Yes'm."
"And a bag of fresh salt--be sure it's quite fresh."
"That's down, ma'am--anything more you can think of?"
"Why, yes, you might send a pound of desecrated codfish."
"Nothing more, ma'am--we have just received a fresh lot of nice
horseradish which I can recommend."
"Not to-day, thank you. We don't keep a horse."
When she went out that man filed the order without even a smile upon
his face.
I felt like fanning myself with a washboard, although it was bitter
cold outside.
While I was calling on Bob Sherlock, to talk over a little business he
and myself were interested in, there was something of a commotion.
It began after my arrival.
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