THE Fairfaxes were married at Trinity Church, Boston, and the Bishop of Boston performed the ceremony. The Governor of Massachusetts gave the bride away, and there was no one present at the affair but Mayflower descendants and a few noblemen from Europe, who came by way of Washington to grace the affair.

The Boston newspapers were filled to overflowing with accounts of the wedding, a description of the presents and the life history of the contracting parties. They told in detail the genealogy of both the bride and groom.

The bride was an heiress in a moderate way, but the groom, who was an F. F. V., was poor, so that he positively refused to have his wife touch a penny of the money she inherited. “I am going to work,” said he to the relatives and friends of the bride. “I have secured a position as a clerk on the Panama Canal, and we shall sail to-morrow.”

“Bravo!” said every one.

Mrs. Fairfax packed her costly wedding presents away and stored them among other family treasures in the attic of her great-aunt in Cambridge, and with only about twelve trunks of dainty clothing and household things she departed with her wedded love.

She was a graduate of Wellesley College, and she had, in addition, studied domestic economy, so she gave out for publication that she intended doing her own housework on the Canal Zone.

“A sensible and model woman,” said the newspapers. Mothers talked about the model Mrs. Fairfax to their daughters, in the hope that it would influence their own futures; so, you see, gentle reader, what a heroine Mrs. Fairfax was in her native city.

Among Mrs. Fairfax’s wedding presents was one of such a kind as to preclude all possibility of its being left at home in the attic on Brattle street, so a ticket was purchased for it and, attached to a silver chain, this present was led by Mrs. Fairfax to the Pullman palace car which was to convey the newlyweds to New York, from which they embarked for Colon. “Ferdinand De Lesseps” was the name of the present. It was the finest of bull terriers, and Mrs. Fairfax was almost as proud of it as she was of her new husband.

On the ship there were, from the Fairfax point of view, a strange assortment of persons who did not speak the English language as it was spoken in the world to which the pair belonged, but who, strange to say, considered themselves as good, if not better, than the young couple.

It is needless to say that both had led a most sheltered life, and their knowledge of common people was limited to persons of the domestic servant class and railroad porters. Being just out of college, they, of course, knew it all, and did not see that a wider experience was being thrust upon them. They were very exclusive, and before the ship arrived at port they had shown such antipathy for their fellow-passengers that they were anything but popular.

When the ship docked there was no one to meet them, although Mr. Fairfax had sent a wireless message to the man who was to give him information regarding his new position in some office or other on the Zone.

They were, therefore, obliged to find a room for themselves on a dingy street in Panama, and in a house where many negroes lived. No one appeared to know that the blooded ones had arrived.

After many weeks of disgusting hardships, through the influence of Mr. Fairfax’s boss, a vulgar, unlettered man who had been a simple carpenter in Boston, the young couple were assigned to two non-housekeeping rooms in one corner of a big house occupied by a Swedish family named Svenska, and, although Mr. Svenska had only been in the United States long enough to acquire a knowledge of railroading and citizenship papers, his privileges and wages far exceeded those of Mr. Fairfax, who was a descendant of a cavalier who had signed the Declaration of Independence.

It was the proud boast of the Swedish lady that she had landed at Ellis Island in her bare feet five years before, and when Mrs. Fairfax was a sweet undergraduate, shining as a drawing-room butterfly, Mrs. Svenska was dusting drawing-rooms.

Now, she kept a hired girl, and had A No. 1 furniture, while Mrs. Fairfax had the sort that was specially brought to the Isthmus for clerks who received only $100 a month.

The Svenska wash was always hanging on the front porch, and the mangy cur dog of the Svenskas was ever seeking social intercourse with the blooded terrier of the Fairfaxes.

Mr. and Mrs. Svenska always addressed Mrs. Fairfax as Mrs. Penpusher—a term which Mrs. F. could not understand.

Being a newcomer and unsophisticated, Mrs. Fairfax decided to move into the pretty cottage across the way, which had been vacant since her arrival. Accordingly, one day she started for the Quartermaster’s office to arrange for a transfer. The Quartermaster, however, saw her coming, and very prudently withdrew, leaving his assistant to deal with her. This gentleman, after hearing Mrs. Fairfax’s complaints and request for new quarters, indignantly replied: “You ain’t got no kick coming. Why, them quarters you want belong to two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar men. They ain’t for no one-hundred-dollar people.”

“Why, what do you mean?” said poor Mrs. Fairfax, aghast. “I shall see that you are reported for your insolence. My husband’s grandfather was a Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.”

“That don’t cut no ice down here,” was the reply. “If he was the son of the Colonel himself, he wouldn’t get them quarters with his salary. You’re in the same house now with a high-priced man, so I don’t see what yer kickin’ about.”

“It is evident you don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mrs. Fairfax in bewilderment. “Why, the people who occupy the other part of the house are common—positively vulgar. I must get another house; I cannot live there. I shall come again when the Quartermaster is in.”

So, without even a good-afternoon, she hurried home to find that “Prosit,” Svenska’s dog, had picked a quarrel with “Ferdinand De Lesseps,” the Boston terrier. In the combat the plebian “Prosit,” having no fine sense of honor nor any regard for the rules of war, had treacherously nipped off “Ferdinand’s” tail. “Ferdinand,” though a courageous beast, could not bear this indignity, so had left the field in possession of his vulgar antagonist. Then, too, Mrs. Svenska’s much-patched clothing was hanging, as usual, on the porch. There was an array of socks of huge dimensions, hickory shirts and piebald khaki trousers, all of which greatly offended the aesthetic taste of the dainty Mrs. Fairfax. So she sought Mrs. Svenska, and requested that lady to take her clothing from the line and to chain up that brute “Prosit.” “I beg pardon,” began Mrs. Fairfax, when her neighbor appeared at the door, “that dog of yours has bitten off my dog Ferdinand’s’ tail.”

“Veil,” answered Mrs. Svenska, “dat bane a gude yob. My Oscar, he bane pay two dollar gold to a faller in Sout’ Brooklyn fer trimmin’ up our own bulldog’s tail. Such dogs ain’t in style mid tails. Anyhow, vy you not stay home an’ mind yer dog? You ain’t got no bizness in dese quarters—your man is nuttin’ but a penpusher mit a hundred dollars, and my Oscar, he make two hundred, an’ you tink you are better as we are.”

As Mrs. Svenska finished speaking she shook her fist in Mrs. Fairfax’s face, which belligerent gesture so frightened the latter that she rushed from the door and fell on her own doorstep in a dead faint. This, of course, attracted the attention of a passer-by, and soon a curious crowd assembled. In the crowd there chanced to be one of that slick class of individuals known as “gumshoe” men. He stood and looked on and said nothing, but what he thought would fill a big book. Mrs. Svenska did not appear to make an explanation, and no one in the crowd made a move to help the unfortunate woman. The “gumshoe” man pulled a little notebook from his inside pocket and jotted down the following: “Woman found on doorstep of House No. —— in stupefied condition * * *.”

Now, the district physician put in an appearance, and in a few minutes Mrs. Fairfax had revived sufficiently to sit up and take notice. Her first thought was of her poor maimed dog, and she said, with what voice she could muster: “Oh, where did he go?”

“Who?” said the “gumshoe” man, stepping forward eagerly.

“‘Ferdinand,’” weakly replied the poor woman, sinking down upon the step and bursting into sobs.

The physician, with a sad expression on his face, ordered an officer to escort Mrs. Fairfax to her rooms, and the “gumshoe” man wrote: “Drugged by some one named ‘Ferdinand’—a lover, probably—drinking together. Husband, clerk—decent fellow. Mystery here—woman needs watching—got no friends among the women—keeps to herself.”

Carefully tucking his little book in the inside pocket, near his heart (for there is nothing dearer to these gentry than to get “something on” a married woman), he joined the policeman as the latter came from the house, shaking his head mysteriously.

All this had its due effect on the bystanders, and each one went on his or her way with an idea that Mrs. Fairfax had some awful secret. Each man cautioned his wife to have nothing to do with her, because she had a sweetheart unknown to her husband—a guy named “Ferdinand,” an Eyetalian or a dago of some kind. So, as a matter of course, the village people went out of their way and took special pains not only to shun Mrs. Fairfax, but to let her see that she was being shunned. The “gumshoe” man’s notes were now being put into circulation through the medium of one of his confidants, a notorious male gossip whose calling took him almost daily to every village on the line. This mode of disseminating slander is equalled, perhaps, only by the New York yellow journals.

Meantime Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax took their evening walks together, happily unconscious of the awful slander that threatened to engulf them. Mrs. Svenska kept “Prosit” chained up, so that he could not play with the Fairfax dog, fearing that people would think that she was friendly with Mrs. Fairfax. The Quartermaster’s assistant held his head high, in a way which plainly said, “Nothin’ doin’,” when the lady went to the office for anything. Even the dusky commissary attendants tossed their woolly heads when she gave them an order. Then a rumor was started that Mr. Fairfax was not married to Mrs. Fairfax. This story gained in popularity from day to day, and at last assumed such truthful proportions that an agent was sent out to investigate the matter. This gentleman’s name was Gilhooly, a descendant, so ’tis said, of one of the royal lines of Erin. He was a native of Boston.

He started his investigation with the knowledge that he was to hunt down a cultivated woman. After a couple of weeks Gilhooly sent his notebook to the great tribunal of justice. Were you so fortunate as to get a glimpse of this little book the following might attract your eye:

“Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax are married, all right, tho’ you’d never think it from the loving way they live. When Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax are at home they hold hands and they read Shakespeare and Thomas a Kempis. When Mr. Fairfax ain’t at home Mrs. Fairfax does her housework, except the washin’ and scrubbin’, which ain’t in her line. When she ain’t doin’ her housework she’s paintin’ pictures and writin’ for college papers. The lad ‘Ferdinand’ is not a dago, at all, but an ugly brute of a Boston bull terrier with a pedigree. He loves his mistress, and it was on account of Svenska’s ‘mutt’ havin’ chewed off his tail that the ruction started. Let them that are without fault throw the first stone. So, I guess it is up to the Colonel himself to set matters right.”