The man's language
was frightful--filthy. And his wife straightened herself up and
answered him back. It was a babel of obscene Frisco curses: but I
remember one clear sentence of hers from the din--
"You--, you! And d'ye think _my_ heart won't go to pieces when my
stays are cut?"
* * * * *
All the way home Violet kept sobbing and crying out that she was never
driven so slowly. She was convinced that some harm had happened to
her own Jack. She ran up to the night-nursery at once and woke your
god-child out of a healthy sleep. And he arose in his full strength
and yelled.
II.--THE GREAT FIRE ON FREETHY'S QUAY.
_From "Q_."
Troy Town.
New Year's Eve, 1892.
MY DEAR PRINCE,--The New Year is upon us, a season which the devout
Briton sets aside for taking stock of his short-comings. I know not if
Prester John introduced this custom among the Abyssinians: but we find
it very convenient here.
In particular I have been vexing myself to-day over the gradual
desuetude of our correspondence. Doubtless the fault is mine: and
doubtless I compare very poorly with Dexter, whose letters are bound
to be bright and frequent.
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