d fetch up
in prison or the poor-house first! It was a momentous question, and to
his wife's proposal of a fresh detail of domestic expense, Triangle
responded--

"Why can't we?"

"Yes, that's what I'd like to know--why can't _we_?"

"We _can't_, Mrs. Triangle," decidedly answered her lord and master.

Now Mrs. T., being but a woman, very naturally went on to give Mr. T. a
Caudle lecture half an hour long, winding up with one of those
time-honored perquisites of the female sex--a good cry.

Poor Triangle put on his hat and marched down to his bake-oven of an
"office," to plan business and smoke his cigar. Triangle came home to
tea, and saw at a glance that something must be done. Mrs. Triangle was
to be "compromised," or far hotter than even the hot, hot weather would
be his domicile for the balance of the season. Triangle thought it over,
as he nibbled his toast and sipped his hot Souchong.

"My dear," said he, pushing aside his cup, and tilting himself upon the
"hind legs" of his chair--"business is very dull, the weather is
intolerable, I know you and the children would be much benefitted by a
trip into the country--why can't we go?"

"Why can't we?--that's what I'd like to know!" was the ready response of
Mrs. T.

"Well, we can go. My friend Jingo has as fine a place in the country as
ever was, anywhere; he has asked me again and again to come down in the
summer, and bring all the family. Now we'll go; Jingo will be delighted
to see us; and we'll have a good, pleasant time, I'll warrant."

Mrs. Triangle was delighted; soon all the clouds of her temper were
dispersed, and like people "cut out for each other," Triangle and his
wife sat and planned the details of the tour to Jingo Hill Farm.
Frederic Antonio Gustavus was to be rigged out in new boots, hat, and
breeches. Maria Evangeline Roxana Matilda was to be fitted out in Polka
boots, gipsey bonnet, and Bloomer pantalettes, with an entire invoice of
handkerchiefs, scarfs, ribbons, gloves, and hosiery for "mother," little
Georgiana Victorine Rosa Adelaide, and _the baby_, Henry Rinaldo
Mercutio. After three days' onslaught upon poor Triangle's pockets, with
any quantity of "fuss and feathers," Mrs. Triangle pronounced the
caravan ready to move. But just as all was ready, Bridget Durfy, the
maid-of-all-work, who was to accompany them on the expedition as
supervisor of the children, threw up her engagement.

"Plaze the pigs," said Biddy; "it's mesilf as niv