This was a standing outlay of Madam Hansen's, and she had one besides.
Every evening she bought a large piece of sugared Vienna bread. She did
not eat it herself; neither was it for the children; no one knew what
she did with it, nor did anybody particularly care.

* * * * *

When there was no prospect of halves of lager, Policeman Frode Hansen
promenaded his co-efficient with dignity up and down the street.

If he then happened to meet Trofast or any other of his canine friends,
he always made a long halt, for the purpose of scratching him behind the
ear. And when he observed the great _nonchalance_ with which the dogs
comported themselves in the street, it was a real pleasure to him to
sternly pounce upon some unhappy man and note down his full name and
address, because he had taken the liberty of throwing an envelope into
the gutter.


II.

It was late in the autumn. There was a dinner-party at the merchant's;
the family had been back from the country for some time.

The conversation flowed on languidly and intermittently, until the
flood-gates were suddenly lifted, and it became a wild _fos_
[Footnote: Waterfall, cataract.] For down at the hostess's end of the
table this question had cropped up: 'Can one call a lady a fine
lady--a real fine lady--if it be known that on a steam-boat she has
put her feet up on a stool, and disclosed small shoes and embroidered