Scarcely had I taken my seat, ere the bell was in my hand.
"There's no sugar on the table, Kitty." These were my words, as the girl entered, in obedience to my summons.
"Oh, I forgot!" she ejaculated, and hurriedly supplied the deficiency.
Ting-a-ling-a-ling, went my bell, ere she had reached the kitchen.
"There's no knife and fork for the steak," said I, as Kitty re-appeared.
The knife and fork were furnished, but not with a very amiable grace.
"What's the matter with this coffee ?" asked Mr.Smith, after sipping a spoonful or two.

"It's got a queer taste." "I'm sure I don't know." It was plain that I was going to have another trying day; and I began to feel a little worried.

My reply was not, therefore, made in a very composed voice.
Mr.Smith continued to sip his coffee with a spoon, and to taste the liquid doubtingly.

At length he pushed his cup from him, saying: "It's no use; I can't drink that! I wish you would just taste it.

I do believe Kitty has dropped a piece of soap into the coffee pot." By this time I had turned out a cup of the fluid for myself, and proceeded to try its quality.