American literature -- Humor; American wit and humor
"I shall not make a bargain without _that_," said mamma, resolutely. The
peddler sighed, and laying it with the selected articles said:
"Tish ver great pargains for te lady."
Mamma smiled triumphantly, and the peddler, tying up his bundle and
slinging his stick, departed with an air of humility.
Papa's voice was soon heard, as usual, before he was seen.
"Rub down Beauty, Mark, and tell Diggory to call out the hounds."
There was a slight embarrassment in mamma's manner when he entered,
mingled with the same quantity of bravado. He nodded to her, tapped me
on the head with his riding-whip, gave Patsey a kiss as she stretched
out her arms to him, tossed her in the air, and, returning her to her
nurse, was passing on.
"Do stop, Colonel," said mamma, "and admire my bargains. See this cut
glass and plate that we have been wishing for, to save our best set."
"What, this trash?" said he, pausing a moment at the table--"blown glass
and washed brass! Who has been fooling you?"
"Colonel," said mamma, coloring highly, "how can you--"
"I can not stop a minute, now, wife," said he, "Jones and Ferguson are
for a hunt to-day! They are waiting at Drake's corner. It looks like
falling weather and my old drab will come in well to-day."
Mamma looked frightened, and he passed on up-stairs. He was one of those
gentlemen who keep a house alive, as the phrase is, whether in merriment
or the contrary, and we were always prepared to search for his hat, or
whip, or slippers, which he was confident he put in their places, but
which, by some miracle, were often in opposite directions. Our greatest
trial, however, was with mamma's and his spectacles, for they had four
pairs between them--far-sighted and near-sighted. There were, indeed,
_optical_ delusions practiced with them; for when papa wanted his, they
were hidden behind some pickle-jar; and when mamma had carefully placed
hers in her key-basket, they were generally found in one of papa's
various pockets; when a distant object was to be seen, he was sure to
mount the near-sighted, and cry "Pshaw!" and if a splinter was to be
taken out, nothing could be found but the far-sighted ones, and he said
something worse: sometimes all four pairs were missing, and such a
scampering ensued!
We now heard a great outcry up-stairs. "Wife! Chloe! Cornelia! come and
find my drab coat!" We looked at each other in dismay, but papa was not
a man for delay, and we obeyed his summons.
"Wife," said he, beating aside the externals of man that hung about his
dressing-room, "where is my old drab coat?"
Mamma swallowed as if a dry artichoke was in her throat, as she said,
slowly, "Why, colonel, you know you had not worn that coat for months,
and as you have another one, and a _roquelaure_, and the coat was full
of moth-holes, I exchanged it with the peddler for cut glass and plate."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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