"Sure enough, there she was, kindling the fire with a vengeance."
"With what?" I asked. "With a vengeance?"
"Yes, with a vengeance to my pocket. She had the oil can in her hands, and was pouring its contents freely into the furnace, in order to quicken combustion. I now understand all about this fishy smell."
"And I all about the remarkable disappearance of a gallon of oil in four days. Kindling the fire with dollar and forty cent oil!"
"Even so!"
"What did you say to her, Mr. Smith?"
"Nothing. But I rather think she'll not want me to look at her again, the huzzy!"
"Kindling fire with my best sperm oil! Well, I can't get over that!"
Something in this wise I continued to ejaculate, now and then, until my astonishment fairly wore itself out.
I didn't consider it worth while to say any thing to Hannah when I went down stairs, thinking it best to let the look my husband spoke of, do its work. By the way, I don't much wonder that she was frightened at his look—for he can—But I forgot—I am speaking of my husband, and he might happen to read this.