TAG; OR, THE CHIEN BOULE DOG
cab man and they were led to the first floor front by a neat and smiling landlady, who, before leaving, stooped to pat the head of Bateese.
“And how old might he be, ma’am?” she asked.
Patty hesitated and then came a dual answer.
“Five,” said Patty.
“Seven,” said Pat.
They paused in confusion and the landlady came to the rescue, saying with a nod at Pat, “Now ain’t that just like these men; their heads is so full of business they don’t even remember the ages of their own children. So he is five. He is fine an’ fleshy for his age; a healthy one, I guess.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, looking out of the window.
“What is your name, my little man?”
40
