When he make wash-hand ceremony she say, “Don’t dry your thumbs on clean towels!”
“What are clean towels for?” he ask saddishly.
“I hang them in bathroom to show company how extravagant we are with our laundry,” rejoint Mrs. Fillups. “In this era of hard times towels are not made merely to be used.”
Dinner is served. At Hon. Table where they set there she resume conversation. “Don’t tip soup plate in eating it,” she report cow-cattishly. “Don’t stand up while carving mutton. Don’t eat salad with oyster fork!”
When dinner is completely finished Hon. Fillups promenade in direction of parlour. His teeeth now contains one enlarged tobacco pipe of sunburned appearance.
“DON’T!!” holla Hon. Mrs. with ghost-voice. “The parlour must be saved from that pipe. I have prepared the library for your comfort where you can set among the books you love and read the newspapers. There you can do what you like and feel homeful.”
Hon. Fillups go to library. There he find one tight-back wicker chair setting hopefully beside table. On that chair are laid out one smoke jacket containing velvet collar of charming red. Befront of his chair are two (2) complete slippers of carpet toes. On table are 12 refined cigars of freckled complexion. On table next by this are works of Hon. Robt. Browning bound in one-half calf and containing blue ribbons to mark Mr. Fillups favourite poems, which he has never read.
Hon. Husband make walk-in to this library where he take Evening Telegram from his pocket and unfold it on table. Then he go to opposite corner of room, remove off his coat, pick out one large velvet-coloured chair, light Hon. Pipe and commence reading News with expression of intense relief.
“Why don’t you put on smoke-jacket what I arrange for your comfort?” requires Mrs. Fillups with injury voice.
“Too hot, dearness,” he report from news.