“What a nice, comfortable, pleasant-feeling, long-napped carpet, George. I do like a Turkey carpet above all things; it is so warm and aristocratic-looking, and then, too, so durable. Now, I’m sure, my dear, I am right in saying that you picked it up a bargain at a sale.”
“Yes, that he did, mamma dear,” said Mrs Scribe; “but he won’t tell me what he gave for it. Do tease him till he tells you.”
“Now, how much was it, sir?”
“Another slice of turkey, Mrs Cubus?”
“Well, really, my dear, I don’t think—er—er—well, it really is a delicious turkey. Oh! half that, George. And why don’t you say mamma? Yes, just the least bit of stuffing, and—er—a chestnut or two. That’s quite enough gravy, thank you. Now, what did you give for the carpet?”
“Oh,” I said, “it’s Christmas-time, so I shall make a riddle of it. Guess.”
“Well, let me see,” said Mrs S’s Mamma. “You gave—what shall I say? About eighteen feet square, isn’t it?”
“Very good—that’s it exact.”
“Well, then, my dear, as you bought it a bargain, I should say you gave five pounds for it—or say guineas—but, no, I’ll say pounds.”