The hotel was in flames. Mr. Pokeweed was promptly on hand, and tore
madly into the burning pile, whence he soon emerged with a nude female.
Depositing her tenderly upon a pile of hot bricks, he mopped his
steaming front with his warm coat-tail.
“Now, Mrs. Pokeweed,” said he, “where will I be most likely to find the
children? They will naturally wish to get out.”
The lady assumed a stiffly vertical attitude, and with freezing dignity
replied in the words following:
“Sir, you have saved my life; I presume you are entitled to my thanks.
If you are likewise solicitous regarding the fate of the person you
have mentioned, you had better go back and prospect round till you find
her; she would probably be delighted to see you. But while I have a
character to maintain unsullied, you shall not stand there and call me
Mrs. Pokeweed!”
Just then the front wall toppled outward, and Pokeweed cleared the
street at a single bound. He never learned what became of the strange
lady, and to the day of his death he professed an indifference that was
simply brutal.