"Why, husband?" asked his wife.
"Because that rascally book-agent sold me the same book this morning. Now we've got two copies of the same book,—two copies of the 'Early Christian Martyrs,' and—"
"But, husband, we can—"
"No, we can't, either!" interrupted Mr. Watson. "The man is off on the train before this. Confound it! I could kill the fellow. I—"
"Why, there he goes to the depot now," said Mrs. Watson, pointing out of the window at the retreating form of the book-agent making for the train.
"But it's too late to catch him, and I'm not dressed. I've taken off my boots, and—"
Just then Mr. Stevens, a neighbor of Mr. Watson, drove by, when Mr. Watson pounded on the window-pane in a frantic manner, almost frightening the horse.
"Here, Stevens!" he shouted, "you're hitched up! Won't you run your horse down to the train and hold that book-agent till I come? Run! Catch 'im now!"
"All right," said Mr. Stevens, whipping up his horse and tearing down the road.
Mr. Stevens reached the train just as the conductor shouted, "All aboard!"