"You're a fool! Money can buy all sorts of comfort."
"What do you mean, Thomas, by those hints about money? has anything happened?"
"Oh! no—no!" he replied, quickly, turning his eyes away; "but there's no knowing when something might. Now I'll try her," thought he. "It's my dream, Pol. Shall I tell it to you?"
"Do, my dear Tom. Oh! I'm so glad to see you yourself once more."
"Well, dear," he continued, sitting close to her, and placing his arm around her waist, "I dreamed that as I was returning from a job, what should I see in the street, under my very nose, but a pocket-book, stuffed full of money. Presently the owner came along. He asked me if I had found it. I said no, and came home a rich man—oh! so rich!"
"I know your heart too well, Tom, to believe that such a thing could happen except in a dream," said his wife, to his great annoyance. He started up, and after one or two turns about the little, now untidy, room, exclaimed, angrily:
"Why not? I should like to know if fortune did—I mean—was, to fling luck in my way, do you think I'd be such a cursed fool as not to grab at it?"
"Thomas, you have been drinking too much," said she, sadly.
"No, no," he interrupted, "not enough; give me some more."
"Not a drop, husband," she replied, seriously, and with determination. "If you will poison yourself it shall not be through my hand."