talking about? Say it again,"--smiling upon him and paying close
attention to his every want. Even old Hasluck, opposite to him, and
who, though pleasant enough in his careless way, was far from being a
slave to politeness, roared himself purple, praising some new
disinfectant of which this same Teidelmann appeared to be the
proprietor.

"My wife swears by it," bellowed Hasluck, leaning across the table.

"Our drains!" chimed in Mrs. Hasluck, who was a homely soul; "well,
you'd hardly know there was any in the house since I've took to using
it."

"What are they talking about?" asked Teidelmann, appealing to my
mother. "What's he say his wife does?"

"Your disinfectant," explained my mother; "Mrs. Hasluck swears by it."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Hasluck."

"Does she? Delighted to hear it," grunted the old gentleman,
evidently bored.

"Nothing like it for a sick-room," persisted Hasluck; "might almost
call it a scent."

"Makes one quite anxious to be ill," remarked my aunt, addressing no
one in particular.