“Because I don’t care about doing anything,” Mr. Tetterby replied.
“I am sure I don’t,” said Mrs. Tetterby.
“I’ll take my oath I don’t,” said Mr. Tetterby.
A diversion arose here among Johnny and his five younger brothers, who, in preparing the family breakfast table, had fallen to skirmishing for the temporary possession of the loaf, and were buffeting one another with great heartiness; the smallest boy of all, with precocious discretion, hovering outside the knot of combatants, and harassing their legs. Into the midst of this fray, Mr. and Mrs. Tetterby both precipitated themselves with great ardour, as if such ground were the only ground on which they could now agree; and having, with no visible remains of their late soft-heartedness, laid about them without any lenity, and done much execution, resumed their former relative positions.
“You had better read your paper than do nothing at all,” said Mrs. Tetterby.
“What’s there to read in a paper?” returned Mr. Tetterby, with excessive discontent.
“What?” said Mrs. Tetterby. “Police.”
“It’s nothing to me,” said Tetterby. “What do I care what people do, or are done to?”
“Suicides,” suggested Mrs. Tetterby.
“No business of mine,” replied her husband.