The Fitzfaddles at Hull. "Well, well, drum no more about it, for mercy's sake; if you must go, you must _go_, that's all." "Yes, just like you, Fitzfaddle"--pettishly reiterates the lady of the middle-aged man of business; "mention any thing that would be gratifying to the children--" "The children--_umph!_" "Yes, the children; only mention taking the dear, tied-up souls to, to--to the Springs--" "_Haven't_ they been to Saratoga? _Didn't_ I spend a month of my precious time and a thousand of my precious dollars there, four years ago, to be physicked, cheated, robbed, worried, starved, and--laughed at?" Fitzfaddle responds. "Or, to the sea-side--" continued the lady. "Sea-side! good conscience!" exclaims Fitzfaddle; "my dear Sook--" "Don't call me _Sook_, Fitzfaddle; _Sook!_ I'm not _in_ the kitchen, nor _of_ the kitchen, you'll please remember, Fitzfaddle!" said the lady, with evident feeling. "O," echoed Fitz, "God bless me, Mrs. Fitzfaddle, don't be so rabid; don't be foolish, in your old days; my dear, we've spent the happiest of our days in the kitchen; when we were first married, _Susan_, when our whole stock in trade consisted of five ricketty chairs--" "Well, that's enough about it--" interposed the lady. "A plain old pine breakfast table--" continued Fitz. "I'd stop, just THERE--" scowlingly said Mrs. Fitz. "My father's old chest, and your mother's old corner cupboard--" persevered the indefatigable monster. "I'd go through the whole inventory--" angrily cried Mrs. Fitz--"clean down to--" "The few broken pots, pans, and dishes we had--" "Don't you--_don't you feel ashamed of yourself_?" exclaims Mrs. Fitz, about as full of anger as she could well contain; but Fitz keeps the even tenor of his way. "Not at all, my dear; Heaven forbid that I should ever forget a jot of the real happiness of any portion of my life. When you and I, dear Sook (an awful scowl, and a sudden change of her position, on her costly rocking chair. Fitz looked askance at Mrs. Fitz, and proceeded); when you and I, _Susan_, lived in Dowdy's little eight by ten 'blue frame,' down in Pigginsborough; not a yard of carpet, or piece of mahogany, or silver, or silk, or satin, or flummery of any sort, the five old chairs--" "Good conscience! are you going to have that over again?" cries Mrs. Fitz, with the utmost chagrin. "The old white pine table--" Mrs. Fitz starts in horror. "My father's old chest, and your mother's old corner cupboard!" Mrs. Fitz, in an agony, walks the floor! "The few broken or cracked pots, pans and dishes, we had--" Nature quite "gin eout"--the exhausted Mrs. Fitzfaddle throws herself down upon the sumptuous _conversazione_, and absorbs her grief in the ample folds of a lace-wrought handkerchief (bought at Warren's--cost the entire profits of ten quintals of Fitzfaddle & Co.'s A No. 1 cod!), while the imperturbable Fitz drives on--