"Ah, you may laugh," said Balch, "it is all very well; but I wish there was not a woman in the world."
"Horrible!" said Gerritt. "I shan't join you there; but who was this Mrs. Markham?"
Balch moved his chair nearer to Gerritt, and shutting his teeth very closely together, hissed through them,
"The very d—l."
"Is that all?" said the merry philosopher. "So is every woman, unless you get the right side of her. Women are like cats; you must 'poor' them, as the children say, the right way of the fur, unless you want them to scratch. I suppose you did not understand managing her."
"Were you ever on a committee of an Orphan Asylum?" asked Balch, solemnly.
"No—no;" laughed Gerritt. "Why, Balch, I beg pardon on my knees, for calling you and your den here, funereal; I have not laughed so hard for a twelvemonth."
"Because," said Balch, not heeding his friend's raillery; "I have, and Mrs. Markham was the matron."
"O—h—I see," said Gerritt. "You thought her an angel, and she thought that you thought the children under her care were well cared for, when they were not; is that it?"