HOW I DID IT:
By H. Withersquash
(Head Poet)
Now was Selia indeed moved to pride, and wept a tear into the window-sill to think how dearly she loved him and how high she had to [82] ]rise yet before worthy to sit beside him as wife and matron. So she crossed her little fingers and wished hard that she might soon get a good leg up through her good friends the Majpottels, after which she slided out of her clothes and things and had a nice wash in the basin all over altho not knowing that such is corect nature taught her it was best so every day. And while doing up her hair she practiced talking in the new voice and warking with ease in the new thin shoes, and so with a last dab of powder from a pretty little glass pot on her dress-table, she popped downt to breakfast very spry and determined to win.
And throughout London newsboys shouted the fame of Mr. Withersquash.
CHAPTER EIGHT [83]
Mr. Withersq was already digging at the last of his second egg with rather a cross face, as he really preferred duck’s eggs as being more sustaining, when she entered their private eating apartment at whose door stood a chef sent to watch over their food by the hotel manager.
“Hello dearie” cried he rising and casting the gloom off his face, as he had learnt to rise for ladys by now. “We have a treat in store for to-day.” And he nodded to the chef to bring Selia her breakfast, which the good man with his white hat did and then retired out of the room.
“Oh Harold what is it?” she cried settling her new brown gown, “is it a better kind of party?”
[84] “Well hardly” said Mr. Withersq resuming his egg, “it is to go to a trial.”
“Oh! How delishus” said Selia in glee, “is it a murder?”
“No” said Mr. Withersq, “it is much better, it is a divorce, murders being a little vulgar. But the very cream go to divorces, and were it not for my having this morning before you rose purchaced a good half of the Daily Pull and put the editor in my pocket I do not think even we should have got in.”