"Honest, mamma, when I talk to men that got ALL their boys doin' well and worth their salt, why, I have to keep my mind on Jim and Roscoe and forget about Bibbs." Mrs.Sheridan tossed her head fretfully upon the pillow.

"You did the best you could, papa," she said, impatiently, "so come to bed and quit reproachin' yourself for it." He glared at her indignantly.

"Reproachin' myself!" he snorted.

"I ain't doin' anything of the kind! What in the name o' goodness would I want to reproach myself for?
And it wasn't the 'best I could,' either.

It was the best ANYBODY could! I was givin' him a chance to show what was in him and make a man of himself--and here he goes and gets 'nervous dyspepsia' on me!" He went to the old-fashioned gas-fixture, turned out the light, and muttered his way morosely into bed.
"What ?" said his wife, crossly, bothered by a subsequent mumbling.
"More like hook-worm, I said," he explained, speaking louder.