"And why should you think that I
thought he was calling me 'Miss Sally'?"
"Because," answered the cook, calmly, "I was the Marquis. My father was
the Marquis of Borodale. But you'll excuse that, won't you, Sally? It
really isn't my fault, you know."
[Illustration: "Here we have Kate and John." (cartoon from _The Rolling
Stone_)]
A FOG IN SANTONE
[Published in _The Cosmopolitan_, October, 1912. Probably
written in 1904, or shortly after O. Henry's first successes
in New York.]
The drug clerk looks sharply at the white face half concealed by the
high-turned overcoat collar.
"I would rather not supply you," he said doubtfully. "I sold you a dozen
morphine tablets less than an hour ago."
The customer smiles wanly. "The fault is in your crooked streets. I
didn't intend to call upon you twice, but I guess I got tangled up.
Excuse me."
He draws his collar higher, and moves out, slowly. He stops under an
electric light at the corner, and juggles absorbedly with three or four
little pasteboard boxes.
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