His partner supplied this information with admirable promptness. Large
size, small size, present price, former price--she had them all.

"Dear me," said Mr. Deacon. "That is very nearly salmoney, isn't it?"

"Herbert!" his Ina admonished, in gentle, gentle reproach. Mr. Deacon
punned, organically. In talk he often fell silent and then asked some
question, schemed to permit his vice to flourish. Mrs. Deacon's return
was always automatic: "_Her_bert!"

"Whose Bert?" he said to this. "I thought I was your Bert."

She shook her little head. "You are a case," she told him. He beamed
upon her. It was his intention to be a case.

Lulu ventured in upon this pleasantry, and cleared her throat. She was
not hoarse, but she was always clearing her throat.

"The butter is about all gone," she observed. "Shall I wait for the
butter-woman or get some creamery?"

Mr. Deacon now felt his little jocularities lost before a wall of the
matter of fact. He was not pleased. He saw himself as the light of his
home, bringer of brightness, lightener of dull hours. It was a pretty
rôle. He insisted upon it. To maintain it intact, it was necessary to
turn upon their sister with concentrated irritation.

"Kindly settle these matters without bringing them to my attention at
meal-time," he said icily.