The Wreck of the South Pole and Other Strange Tales — page 194: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

That Deceptive Telegram. 187 While he was eating salmon and enjoying ice cream at the Bishop’s palace his wife had been enjoying the hospi- talities of the police court. When the police magistrate loomed up before her on the morning after her brilliant debut in Lincoln Park, he said: “What's she up for?” “Trying to extort money from the Rev. Alfred Brown, of Quincy, [Il.”’ “You lie!’ the reverend gentleman’s wife forgot her- self so much astocry. “He is my husband.” “What, this detective?” “No; the Rev. Alfred Brown.” How she managed to work her way out of it we need not inquire, as it is a delicate subject. But work out of it she did, and the next evening, while her husband was supping on a cold meal and wondering why none of the twenty telegrams he had sent that day had brought an answer from his wife, she walked in on him. “Good heavens, Alfy! what are you doing here? I thought you were in Chicago!” “T was, as you know, Theresa, but this dispatch called me back.”’ “This dispatch; why,” and she read it over. “What could have been the matter with you? Couldn’t you read? This is dated at the North Side police station in Chicago. Ah! I see, my dear, beloved husband; you got this the night of the banquet and you had taken a cup of wine Cconniclooolk (©)