People always will croak about something; and it's a kind of fashion to say that a big, hearty, six-foot man is a fragile blossom likely to be nipped by any wintry blast.

Come, come, Mrs.Halliday, your husband mustn't discover that I've been making you cry when he comes home.

He may be home early this evening, perhaps; and if he is, we'll have an oyster supper, and a chat about old times." Mrs.Halliday shook her head dolefully.
"It's past ten o'clock already," she said, "and I don't suppose Tom will be home till after twelve.

He doesn't like my sitting up for him; but I wonder _what_ time he would come home if I didn't sit up for him ?" "Let's hope for the best," exclaimed Mr.Sheldon cheerfully.

"I'll go and see about the oysters." "Don't get them for me, or for Tom," protested Mrs.Halliday; "he will have had his supper when he comes home, you may be sure, and I couldn't eat a morsel of anything." To this resolution Mrs.Halliday adhered; so the dentist was fain to abandon all jovial ideas in relation to oysters and pale ale.