“And I suppose this is to be the case every Saturday? But I know what I 'll do. I know--it's no use, Mr. Caudle, your calling me a good creature: I'm not such a fool as to be coaxed in that way. No: if you want to go to sleep, you should come home in Christian time, not at halfpast twelve. There was a time, when you were as regular at your fireside as the kettle. That was when you were a decent man, and didn't go amongst, Heaven knows who, drinking and smoking, and making what you think your jokes. I never heard any good come to a man who cared about jokes. No respectable tradesman does. But I know what I'll do: I'll scare away your Skylarks. The house serves liquor after twelve of a Saturday; and if I don't write to the magistrates, and have the license taken away, I'm not lying in this bed this night. Yes, you may call me a foolish woman; but no, Mr. Caudle, no; it's you who are the foolish man: or worse than a foolish man; you 're--a wicked one. If you were to die to-morrow--and people who go to public-houses do all they can to shorten their lives--I should like to know who would write upon your tombstone, 'A tender husband and an affectionate father.' I--I'd have no such falsehoods told of you, I can assure you. “Going and spending your money, and--nonsense! don't tell me--no, if you were to ten times swear it, I wouldn't believe that you only spent eighteen-pence on a Saturday. You can't be all those hours, and only spend eighteen-pence. I know better. I'm not quite a fool, Mr. Caudle. A great deal you could have for eighteen-pence! And all the Club married men and fathers of families. The more shame for 'em! Skylarks, indeed! They should call themselves Vultures; for they can only do as they do by robbing their innocent wives and children. Eighteen-pence a week! And if it was only that,--do you know what fifty-two eighteen-pences come to in a year? Do you ever think of that, and see the gowns I wear? I'm sure I can't, out of the house-money, buy myself a pincushion; though I've wanted one these six months. No--not so much as a ball of cotton.” But what do you care, so you can get your brandy-and-water? There's the girls, top--the things they want! They are never dressed like other people's children. But it's all the same to their father. Oh, yes! So he can go with his Skylarks, they may wear sackcloth for pinafores, and packthread for garters. “You'd better not let that Mr. Prettyman come here, that's all; or, rather, you'd better bring him once. Yes, I should like to see him. He wouldn't forget it. A man who, I may say, lives and moves only in a spittoon. A man who has a pipe in his mouth as constant as his front teeth. A sort of tavern king, with a lot of fools, like you, to laugh at what lie thinks his jokes, and give him consequence. No, Mr. Caudle, no; it's no use your telling me to go to sleep, for I won't. Go to sleep, indeed! I'm sure it's almost time to get up. I hardly know what's the use of coming to bed at all now.