"Nothing in the cellar?" fairly howls B——.
"Nothing? Of course there is not," quietly responded the wife; "there is nothing in the cellar; day before yesterday, our drain and Mrs. A.'s drain got choked up; she went to the landlord about it; he sent some men, they examined the drain, and came back to-day with their tools and things, and went down the cellar."
"Down the cellar?" gasped B——, quite tragically.
"Down the cellar!" slowly repeated Mrs. B.
"Give me a light—quick, give me a light, Caroline!"
"Why, don't be a fool. I brought up all the things, the potatoes, the meat, the squashes."
"P-o-o-h! blow the meat and squashes! Give me a light!" and with a genuine melo-drama rush, B—— seized the lamp from his wife's hand, and down the cellar stairs he went, four steps at a lick. In a moment was heard—
"O-o-o-h! I'm ruined!"
With a full-fledged scream, Mrs. B. dashed pell-mell down the stairs, to her husband. He had dropped the lamp—all was dark as a coal mine.
"Fred—Frederick! oh! where are you? What have you done?" cried his wife, in intense agony and doubt.