And when I wouldn't tell her where it was, do you know what she'd do ?" "What ?" "Why, she'd lash an umbrella to her stump and drift off down the street 'sif that umbrella was born there.

You couldn't get ahead of her.

She was ingenious.
"So I thought I'd mention a few facts to you, and you can just throw them together and make them rhyme, and I'll call 'round and pay you for them.

What day?
Tuesday?
Very well; I'll run in on Tuesday and see how you've fixed her up." Then Mr.Smith smoothed up his hat with his handkerchief, wiped the accumulated sorrow from his eyes, placed his hat upon his head, and sailed serenely out and down the stairs toward his desolated hearthstone.
The last caller was an artist.

He took a chair and said, "My name is Brewer; I am the painter of the allegorical picture of 'The Triumph of Truth' on exhibition down at Yelverton's.