I went directly home, more pleased with my success than anything I had ever before accomplished. Nor can I now remember of ever succeeding in anything since, that gave me more satisfaction. As I entered the room, about nine o'clock, with my arms loaded with packages, my wife sang out:
"Little late, but still in the ring."
With grim irony I replied: "And the villain still pursued her."
However, I appreciated the joke as much as she did; and we were but a few moments in preparing a meal that each pronounced the best we had ever partaken of.
Our landlady looked in upon us again that night, when I handed her the dollar due for rent, saying as I did so, that I might as well pay it then as to wait till Monday.
We felt quite comfortable, and congratulated ourselves on our success in pulling through, and making such a narrow escape.
My wife's faith in the three-meals-a-day theory was strengthened more than ever after this; and I felt myself that I had come about as near missing a meal as I would probably ever again experience.
When Monday morning came I was ready for business with my nine bottles of Polish.
The first house I visited was a large stone front, showing the owner to be a man of wealth. I noticed the front window blinds were closed, and as it was Monday morning I concluded that the lady of the house would likely be found at the side door, or possibly overseeing in the laundry. The latter I found to be the case, and when I rang the bell she answered it herself. Upon seeing me with my valise, she slammed the door in my face, and I heard the bolt shove, as though expecting me to attempt to break in.