"
Mr. Furze was silent.
"There you sit, Furze; you ARE provoking! Pick up that hairpin,
will you? You always sit and sit whenever there's any difficulty.
You never go beyond what I have in my own head, and when I DO stir
you up to think it is sure to be something of no use."
"I'll do anything you want," said the pensive husband as his wife
rose and put on her cap. "I've told you before I'll get rid of Tom,
and then perhaps it will all come round!"
"At it again! What DID I tell you last night?--and yet you go on
with your old tune. All come round, indeed! Would it! She's your
daughter, but you don't know her as I do."
Here there came a tap at the door. It was Phoebe: Miss Catharine
sent her to say it was a quarter-past eight: should she make the
coffee?
"Look at that!" said Mrs. Furze: "shall she make the coffee!--after
what has happened! That's the kind of girl she is. It strikes me
you had better have nothing to do with her and leave her to me."
Phoebe tapped again.
"Certainly not," replied Mrs. Furze. "I'll begin," she added to her
husband, "by letting her know that at least I am not dead."
"We'll, we'd better go. You just tackle her, and I'll chime in."
The couple descended, but their plan of campaign was not very
clearly elaborated, and even the one or two lines of assault which
Mrs. Furze had prepared turned out to be useless. It is all very
well to decide what is to be done with a human being if the human
being will but comport himself in a fairly average manner, but if he
will not the plan is likely to fail.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172