I remembered, now it was too late, that I was to be careful not to allow the milk to boil, but the thought of the steak had put everything else out of my head. I gave it up in despair, and breakfasted at the club. I think Davidson has been drawing on my credulity: there is more than butter in cooking. That night I thought I would go to another bedroom, as my bed required making; and it was not till I had screwed out the gas and jumped in that I found there were no blankets. I couldn't find matches, and had to grope my way to my own room, knocking my toes several times on the way; and when I did get into my own bed, I had great difficulty in arranging the blankets to cover my feet and shoulders simultaneously. I have often noticed that creaky doors seem to wait till one gets warm in bed before they begin, and I have as often made up my mind that it is best to get up at the first creak and go to sleep, and as often I have not acted up to my resolution. I was just cozy when a door started to serenade me--"cre-a-k, bump." "Another creak," I thought, "and I'll get up." I waited, and had the encore. "I'll give it another chance; it's a pity to get up, as I might not get the blankets arranged again." I gave it several more chances, and it took every one. I seemed to bump against everything in the house when I got up. Before I could find out the creaker I stood shivering in the lobby, but there was not a sound. However, now that I was up, I determined to find it out. At last it betrayed itself, and I secured it. I had no idea now where I was, and got myself badly bruised before getting to my room; and I locked the door next morning, and took a room in the club. When I did go to the country I never enjoyed myself less. I felt like a culprit whose crime was soon to be discovered. I would hear more about it on our return; but I did not expect to hear so much about it as I did. I had no idea I had done so much damage. "You have broken three cups of the marriage set--a present from mamma. I wouldn't have had them broken for the world; they can't be replaced. You have scratched the mantelpiece with your boots, and it will never look decent again: and, I declare! if you have not been cooking on the dining-room fire, and ruined the grate and fender. And the girl tells me you have cracked the stewing-pan. I might have known better than leave a man in the house: there's not a clean dish in the house, and--oh! this is too bad; look at the tablecloth--spoiled!" I looked at it, and it was not attractive, I must admit--there were rings of soot on it from the coffee-pot, and a variety of stains. I brought philosophy to bear on the subject, and said, "Well, there's no use crying over spilt milk." "But it's not milk--it's coffee, and wine, and soot," replied my wife, "and it will never come out." But it only shows, as I had often thought, that women have no philosophy.