“One glass of brandy.”
“Next?”
“A FIGHT.”
“I’m up against it,” said the wall-paper.
“Hard luck,” replied the horse-shoe over the door.
“Cut it out,” cried the scissors.
“Well, I’ve been walked on lately, too,” remarked the carpet.
“I’ll get some one to look into this,” said the mirror.
“Needn’t,” said the desk, “I haven’t any kick. Everything is all write for mine.”