He opened the little sheet, and smiled teasingly at his wife, who said, “Yes, read it aloud; I'm not at all ashamed of it.”
She put the Advertiser in her lap, and leaned defiantly forward, while she stirred her coffee, and Sewell unfolded the little sheet, and glanced up and down its columns. “Go on! If you can't find it, I can.”
“Never mind! Here it is,” said Sewell, and he began to read—
“'The mill opened yesterday morning with a smaller number of grists than usual, but they made up in quality what they lacked in quantity.'
“Our friend's metaphor seems to have weakened under him a little,” commented Sewell, and then he pursued—
“'A reasonable supply of drunks were despatched—'
“Come, now, Lucy! You'll admit that this is horrible?” he broke off.
“No,” said his wife, “I will admit nothing of the kind. It's flippant, I'll allow. Go on!”
“I can't,” said Sewell; but he obeyed.
“'A reasonable supply of drunks were despatched, and an habitual drunk, in the person of a burly dame from Tipperary, who pleaded not guilty and then urged the “poor childer” in extenuation, was sent down the harbour for three months; Uncle Cook had been put in charge of a couple of young frailties whose hind name was woman—'