sylvia stands at the window

by fan taser

sylvia stood at the window, wondering what had become of jeffrey. a dog ran down the street, barking furously at every living creature it encountered, as well as a few inanimate objects. a man holding his straw hat on to his head so that it would not blow away. chased after the dog. the man reminded sylvia in a vague way of horatio, her deceased betrothed, who had perished heroically in the great battle of t——————, of which so much has been written and sung. jeffrey may have his faults, such as perpetual tardiness, sylvia mused, but at least he is not an irredeemable brute like horatio. the man chasing the dog down the street and holding his hat on his head was named peter petrovich muldoon. he was a plausible rascal who was determined to marry an heiress of more than adequate means. the dog was known as hiram, or so he had been christened by peter petrovich, who had rescued him from the streets in a fit of black melancholy, when peter petrovich had been walking the streets of hamburg, waiting for a tap on the shoulder that would return him to his native land where he was wanted for sedition and conspiracy. a dog, thought peter petrovich. the dossiers on me in the various information ministries of the continent - none of them would mention a dog! therefore he resolved to adopt hiram, and though he had some difficulty overcoming the dog’s innately suspicious nature, managed to do so. how long ago it seemed! actually it was only six weeks ago, when he had stood on the dock at copenhagen under a blue sky beribboned with fleecy clouds and looked over the sparkling blue-gray waters and been waved through customs by the ruddy faced golden mustachioed customs officer, who had exclaimed, “what a fine looking beast! “on seeing hiram. so now peter petrovich and hiram had for six weeks enjoyed the pure free air of britain, land without guile, where the “bobby” was your friend and wished you a cheery good morning, instead of an ill-nourished ruffian in a tightly-belted trenchcoat, bent on revenge against what remained of civilization. so if hiram was feeling a bit out of sorts - from boredom perhaps? - and inclined to run a little bit amok, peter petrovich was not enraged but rather sympathetic, and chased him down the green country lane with something resembling a wistful smile. just as peter petrovich and hiram disappeared around the bend in the road, julia walked into the parlor and interrupted sylvia’s revery. “i seem to have lost my scissors,” julia anounced to sylvia, in the peremptory way she could never completely lose. “help me find them, if you please.” is this all there is? thought sylvia, watching men chase dogs down the street while holding their hats on their head, and finding lost pairs of scissors? but aloud she said, “certainly, julia, i am sure they are here somewhere. ”