"I know by the smoke," said Mrs. Skratdj, softly, but decidedly.
"I fancy I can tell an east wind when I feel it," said Mr. Skratdj, jocosely, to the company.
"I told Jemima to look at the weathercock," murmured Mrs. Skratdj.
"I don't care a fig for Jemima," said her husband.
On another occasion Mrs. Skratdj and a lady friend were conversing.
* * * "We met him at the Smith's—a gentlemanlike, agreeable man, about forty," said Mrs. Skratdj, in reference to some matter interesting to both ladies.
"Not a day over thirty-five," said Mr. Skratdj, from behind his newspaper.
"Why, my dear William, his hair's gray," said Mrs. Skratdj.
"Plenty of men are gray at thirty," said Mr. Skratdj. "I knew a man who was gray at twenty-five."
"Well, forty or thirty-five, it doesn't much matter," said Mrs.
Skratdj, about to resume her narration.