ed yourself to-day? Well, I hope?"

"Oh, yes! had an early caller this morning."

"Ah, and who was she?"

"It wasn't a 'she' at all; it was a gentleman,--a book-agent."

"A what?"

"A book-agent; and to get rid of his importuning I bought his book,--the
'Early Christian Martyrs.' See, here it is," she exclaimed, advancing
toward her husband.

"I don't want to see it," said Watson, frowning terribly.

"Why, husband?" asked his wife.

"Because that rascally book-agent sold me the same book this morning.
Now we've got two copies of the same book,--two copies of the 'Early
Christian Martyrs,' and--"

"But, husband, we can--"

"No, we can't, either!" interrupted Mr. Watson. "The man is off on the
train before this. Confound it! I could kill the fellow. I--"

"Why, there he goes to the depot now," said Mrs. Watson, pointing out of
the window at the retreating form of the book-agent making for the
train.

"But it's too late to catch him, and I'm not dressed. I've taken off my
boots, and--"

Just then Mr. Stevens, a neighbor of Mr. Watson, drove by, when Mr.
Watson pounded on the window-pane in a frantic manner, almost
frightening the horse.

"Here, Stevens!" he shouted, "you're hitched up! Won't you run your
horse down to the train and hold that book-agent till I come? Run! Catch
'im now!"

"All right," said Mr. Stevens, whipping up his horse and tearing down
the road.

Mr. Stevens reached the train just as the conductor shouted, "All
aboard!"

"Book-agent!" he yelled, as the book-agent stepped on the train.
"Book-agent, hold on! Mr. Watson wants to see you."

"Watson? Watson wants to see me?" repeated the seemingly puzzled
book-agent. "Oh, I know what he wants: he wants to buy one of my books;
but I can't miss the train to sell it to him."

"If that is all he wants, I can pay for it and take it back to him. How
much is it?"

"Two dollars, for the 'Early Christian Martyrs,'" said the book-agent,
as he reached for the money and passed the book out of the car-window.

Just then Mr. Watson arrived, puffing and blowing, in his
shirt-sleeves. As he saw the train pull out he was too full for
utterance.

"Well, I got it for you," said Stevens,--"just got it, and that's all."

"Got what?" yelled Watson.

"Why, I got the book,--'Early Christian Martyrs,'--and paid--"

"By--the--great--guns!" moaned Watson, as he placed his hands to his
brow and swooned right in the middle of the street.

THE C