It will be our own faults if we lose sight of this one.' Mr Chick invaded the grave silence which ensued on this remark with the singularly inappropriate air of 'A cobbler there was;' and checking himself, in some confusion, observed, that it was undoubtedly our own faults if we didn't improve such melancholy occasions as the present.
'Which might be better improved, I should think, Mr C.,' retorted his helpmate, after a short pause, 'than by the introduction, either of the college hornpipe, or the equally unmeaning and unfeeling remark of rump-te-iddity, bow-wow-wow!'-- which Mr Chick had indeed indulged in, under his breath, and which Mrs Chick repeated in a tone of withering scorn.
'Merely habit, my dear,' pleaded Mr Chick.
'Nonsense! Habit!' returned his wife.

'If you're a rational being, don't make such ridiculous excuses.

Habit! If I was to get a habit (as you call it) of walking on the ceiling, like the flies, I should hear enough of it, I daresay.
It appeared so probable that such a habit might be attended with some degree of notoriety, that Mr Chick didn't venture to dispute the position.
'Bow-wow-wow!' repeated Mrs Chick with an emphasis of blighting contempt on the last syllable.

'More like a professional singer with the hydrophobia, than a man in your station of life!' 'How's the Baby, Loo ?' asked Mr Chick: to change the subject.
'What Baby do you mean ?' answered Mrs Chick.
'The poor bereaved little baby,' said Mr Chick.

'I don't know of any other, my dear.' 'You don't know of any other,'retorted Mrs Chick.