“Wife,” said I, next morning, “you will not be troubled with any more ticking in our table. I have put a stop to all that.”
“Indeed, husband,” said she, with some incredulity.
“Yes, wife,” returned I, perhaps a little vaingloriously, “I have put a quietus upon that ticking. Depend upon it, the ticking will trouble you no more.”
In vain she besought me to explain myself. I would not gratify her; being willing to balance any previous trepidation I might have betrayed, by leaving room now for the imputation of some heroic feat whereby I had silenced the ticking. It was a sort of innocent deceit by implication, quite harmless, and, I thought, of utility.
But when I went to breakfast, I saw my wife kneeling at the table again, and my girls looking ten times more frightened than ever.
“Why did you tell me that boastful tale,” said my wife, indignantly. “You might have known how easily it would be found out. See this crack, too; and here is the ticking again, plainer than ever.”
“Impossible,” I explained; but upon applying my ear, sure enough, tick! tick! tick! The ticking was there.
Recovering myself the best way I might, I demanded the bug.
“Bug?” screamed Julia, “Good heavens, papa!”
“I hope sir, you have been bringing no bugs into this house,” said my wife, severely.