A wery happy man he'd ha' been, Sir, in the procession o' that 'ere ingin and two more lovely hinfants besides, if it hadn't been for his wife, who was a most owdacious wixin.

She was always a-follerin' him about, and dinnin' in his ears, till at last he couldn't stand it no longer.
"I'll tell you what it is, my dear," he says one day; "if you persewere in this here sort of amusement," he says, "I'm blessed if I don't go away to 'Merriker; and that's all about it." "You're a idle willin," says she, "and I wish the 'Merrikins joy of their bargain." Arter which she keeps on abusin' of him for half an hour, and then runs into the little parlour behind the shop, sets to a-screamin', says he'll be the death on her, and falls in a fit, which lasts for three good hours--one o' them fits wich is all screamin' and kickin'.

Well, next mornin', the husband was missin'.

He hadn't taken nothin' from the till--hadn't even put on his greatcoat--so it was quite clear he warn't gone to 'Merriker.
Didn't come back next day; didn't come back next week; missis had bills printed, sayin' that, if he'd come back, he should be forgiven everythin' (which was very liberal, seein' that he hadn't done nothin' at all); the canals was dragged, and for two months arterwards, wenever a body turned up, it was carried, as a reg'lar thing, straight off to the sassage shop.

Hows'ever, none on 'em answered; so they gave out that he'd run away, and she kep' on the bis'ness.