Now, you see if that woman don't bid on those cans until she runs them up to a dollar apiece, and then come lugging them around to our house with some extraordinary idea about loading them up with gunpowder and selling them to the government during the next war for bombshells.

If she does, that winds the thing up.

I'm a good-natured man, but no woman shall bring home three hundred tomato cans to my house and retain a claim upon my affections.
I'll resign first." My feeling was that he was a little mixed in his notions about bric-a-brac, but that he really had a grievance.
* * * * * Potts told me, also, that he came home very late one night recently, and when he went up stairs his wife and children were in bed asleep.
He undressed as softly as he could, and then, as he felt thirsty, he thought he would get a drink of water.

Fortunately, he saw a gobletful standing on the washstand, placed there for him, evidently, by Mrs.
Potts.

He seized it and drank the liquid in two or three huge gulps, but just as he was draining the goblet he gagged, dropped the glass to the floor, where it was shivered to atoms, while he ejected something from his mouth.