"Well, 'm, she said Mr. Jardine ate salad twice a day, and needed lots of oil."
"So he does," I observed, drily, "but he doesn't bathe in it."
This pleasantry was quite lost on the grocer, for he hastened to agree with me, with a—
"Sure he doesn't," and a convincing wag of the head, as who should say, "Let no man accuse my friend, Mr. Jardine, of bathing in olive-oil, while I am about!"
It was very soothing.
"Well, just send it back, Mrs. Jardine," said he, presently, "it's in gallon cans and sealed."
I went home with wrath in my soul, but intending to modify my bill by at least three gallons of olive-oil. To my horror, however, I found that Mary had opened all three cans, and filled, perhaps, but one cruet from each.
Mary's face fell when I accusingly pointed this fact out to her.
"I forgot that I had any, Missis dear," she said, humbly. "I know you hate to run out of things."
"So I do," I said, severely, "but ten dollars' worth of olive-oil is rather too much to forget at a time, and there is absolutely no excuse for your opening all three of them."