TAG; OR, THE CHIEN BOULE DOG
“Abe,” she called back over her shoulder. “Cut out yer cash-book an’ come an’ git a free look at de circus.”
A moment later a shuffling figure appeared from the dim background of the shop and stood, hook-nosed and loose-lipped, beside the fair one.
“Dat’s Jos’phine,”’ said the lady, pointing a shining finger, “an’ de heaven knows w’at dat is wit her—talks kinda dago, but ’tain’t dago an’—Good Lord! Look at de purp! Say, ain’t he de French poodle fer your life! How’d you like to see yer wife goin’ up Fi’t Avenoo wit dat on de end of a chain—eh?”
With the quick instinct of childhood to resent ridicule, Josephine and Bateese had drawn closer together and were about to move timidly on. A hurried whispering ensued between Abe and his wife, in which she was told to “quit her kiddin’ an’ look at de
