Mr. Wiggins was so intoxicated with love, brandy-and-water and cigars, that he scarcely knew how he reached home. He only remembered that he was very dizzy, and that his charming widow—his guide and friend—had remonstrated with him upon the elevation of his style, and the irregularity of his progression.
With his head in his hand, and a strong "dish of tea" without milk, before him, he was composing himself for business the following morning, when an unexpected visitor was announced.
"Please, sir, there's Mrs. Warner's 's boy as wants to speak vith you," said his landlady.
"Show him up," languidly replied our lover, throwing his aching head from his right to his left hand.
"Vell, Jim, vot's the matter!" demanded he—"How's your missus?"
"She ain't no missus o' mine no longer," replied Jim.
"How?"
"I tell you vot it is, sir, she promised to give me a shillin'-aweek an' my feed; an' she ain't done vun thing nor t' other; for I'm bless'd if I ain't starved, and ain't seen the color of her money sin' I bin there. Father's goin' to summon her."
"It's some mistake, sure?"