the blaze, and with chamois and silver-powder scour up the tea-set that we
never use save when we have company.




CHAPTER II.

MR. GIVEMFITS AND DR. BUTTERFIELD.


The tea-kettle never sang a sweeter song than on the evening I speak of. It
evidently knew that company was coming. At the appointed time our two
friends, Dr. Butterfield and Mr. Givemfits, arrived. As already intimated,
they were opposite in temperament--the former mild, mellow, fat,
good-natured and of fine digestion, always seeing the bright side of
anything; the other, splenetic, harsh, and when he swallowed anything was
not sure whether he would be the death of it, or it would be the death of
him.

No sooner had they taken their places opposite each other at the table than
conversation opened. As my wife was handing the tea over to Mr. Givemfits
the latter broke out in a tirade against the weather. He said that this
winter was the most unbearable that had ever been known in the almanacs.
When it did not rain, it snowed; and when it was not mud, it was sleet. At
this point he turned around and coughed violently, and said that in such
atmosphere it was impossible to keep clear of colds. He thought he would go
South. He would rather not live at all than live in such a climate as this.
No chance here, save for doctors and undertakers, and even they have to
take their own medicines and lie in their own coffins. At this Dr.