Indeed? I don’t smell anything, said the owner, sniffing about.
* * * * *
The husband arrived home much later than usual from the office. He took
off his boots and stole into the bedroom. His wife began to stir. Quickly
the panic-stricken man went to the cradle of his firstborn and began to
rock it vigorously.
What are you doing there, Robert? queried his wife.
I’ve been sitting here for nearly two hours trying to get this baby to
sleep, he growled.
Why, Robert, I’ve got him here in bed with me, replied his wife.
* * * * *
Absalom Foote, an eccentric old man, who had grown tired of life in
the city, decided to move to some smaller town, free from the roar of
traffic, the bustle and confusion of the thronging multitude, where he
could end his days tranquilly, as became a man of his age. In casting
about for a location, his eyes chanced to light upon the advertisement in
a village paper of one Thomas R. Foote, who wanted to dispose of his boot
and shoe store at a bargain, having made up his mind to remove to the
city.
That’s the very thing, he said, selling shoes is a very nice, easy
occupation. It will give me just enough to do to keep me from stagnating,
and it won’t wear me out with overwork. I’ll investigate it. It’s queer,
though, that his name is Foote, my name is Foote, he wants to come to the
city, and I want to go to the country.
A visit to the little town decided him. He liked its appearance and
location. He was pleased, moreover, with Foote’s shoe store, and bought
it good will and all, at a bargain.
Well, said the other Mr. Foote, you won’t have to change the sign.
No, he answered slowly, I’ll just add a little to it.