"I thought you were going to tell a funny one," said one of us, after a while. Clemens had got rid of his emotion by that time."Correct," he drawled, "It happened a few days later, when I was working the fried-fish side of the lane. The street was quite deserted on account of the lateness of the hour and owing to the burial of herrings and crab-meat in innumerable stomachs, big and little. As I put on extra steam to reach the gin-mill before closing time, this pretty legend wafted across the moonbeams:
"'I say, my little female doggie' (as a matter of fact, the shorter and uglier word was used, but it isn't good form, though one may mention 'bull pups' at Mrs. Van Astorbilt's tea) 'I say, my little female doggie, tell Mother if she has another litter by that crossing sweeper of hers, to take care to drown 'em before they grow up as big as you.'
"The lady speaking, or rather shrieking, repeated this admonition three or four times, and followed it up with a succession of oaths that I frankly envied her. Yes, indeed, her 'female doggie,' her 'crossing sweeper,' her 'litter,' and her brand of blasphemy filled me with obscene delight, and I chuckled over them for a week."
After the laughter had subsided, Richard Harding Davis asked: "And what is a crossing sweeper, pray"
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