while Clara J. told Tacks or Uncle Peter or Aunt Martha or Mother
what she intended doing when we moved to the country.

They had it all cooked up. Uncle Peter and Aunt Martha were coming
to live with us and Tacks would be there to let us live with him.

Uncle Peter intended starting a garden truck farm in the back yard
and Tacks figured on building a chicken coop somewhere between the
front gate and the parlor.

Aunt Martha and Clara J. almost came to blows over the question of
milking the cow. Aunt Martha insisted that cows are milked by
machinery and Clara J. was equally positive that moral suasion is
the only means by which a cow can be brought to a show down.

In the meantime I was dying every half hour.

Finally the day preceding the long-talked of country excursion
arrived and I began to figure on the safest and least inexpensive
methods of suicide.

I went to the track in the afternoon and threw out enough gold dust
to paint our country home from cellar to attic--but never a sardine
showed.

Frostbitten and suffocated by the odor of burning money I crept
into a seat in the car and began to plan my finale.

Presently an elbow poked me in the ribs and I looked into the
smiling face of Bunch Jefferson.