"I have," said my wife, "and she remained immovable."
"Perhaps when the first shock has worn off?"
"There is just a chance."
"Yes, I am sure you can persuade her," I concluded, preparing to leave for my office.
"Before you go," interrupted my wife, "what are we going to do about the burial?"
"How does one usually dispose of dead cats?" I asked. "I thought the dustman—"
"Out of the question."
"I know it is forbidden by the by-laws of the Corporation, but a shilling——"
"How stupid you are! If anything were to decide Cook to go it would be handing over Dundee's remains to the dustman. You know how particular Cook is about funerals."
I knew indeed. The rate of mortality among her friends and relations was abnormally high, and on account, as I suspect, of her skill in cookery she was in frequent demand as a mourner. By continual attendance she had cultivated a nice sense of what was fitting on these occasions and posed as an authority on the subject.