"What have you got for me, Polly?" says Tom.
"It ain't much," she replied; "cos you know we can't afford lux'es; but it's such a sweet little neck of mut, and lots of wedges."
"Gollopshus!" says Tom; "out with it! I'm as hungry as an unsuccessful office-seeker."
"Office-seekers! what are they, Tom?"
"Why, Polly, they are—faith, I don't know what to compare them to; you've heard of those downy birds, that when some other has got hisself a comfortable nest, never rests until he pops into it. But them's politics, Polly, and ain't prop for wom to meddle with."
"I agree with you there, Tom, dear; there's enough to occupy a woman's time and attention inside of her house, without bothering her heart with what's going on outside."
"Bless your homey little heart!" cried Tom, heartily. "Oh! Polly, darling, if there were a few more good wives, there would be a great many less bad husbands. This is glorious! If we could only be sure that we had as good a dinner as this all our lives, Pol, how happy I should be; but I often think, my girl, that if any accident should befall me, what would become of you."
"Now, don't talk that way, Thomas; nor don't repine at your condition; it might be much worse."
"I can't help it. I try not; but it's impossible, when I see people dressed up and tittevated out, as I go jogging along with my poor old horse and truck—I envy them in my heart, Pol—I know it's wrong; but it's there, and it would be worse to deny it."
"Could any of those fine folks enjoy their dinner better than you did, Tom?" said Polly, with a cheering smile.