_jet d'eau_, but we mean that she--she--what shall we say?--she blubbered.

It is really surprising how very sympathetic women are on all occasions of
weeping, scolding, and scandalising; and accordingly Mrs. Applebite
"opened the fountains of her eyes," and roared in concert with her mama.

Agamemnon felt that he was an injured man--injured in the tenderest
point--his character for connubial kindness; and he secretly did what many
husbands have done openly--he consigned Mrs. Waddledot to the gentleman
who is always represented as very black, because where he resides there is
no water to wash with.

At this agonising moment Uncle Peter made his appearance; and as actors
always play best to a good audience, the weeping ladies continued their
lachrymose performance with renewed vigour. Uncle Peter was a plain
man--plain in every meaning of the word; that is to say, he was very ugly
and very simple; and when we tell you that his face resembled nothing but
a half-toasted muffin, you can picture to yourself what it must have
looked like under the influence of surprise; but nevertheless, both
Agamemnon and the ladies simultaneously determined to make him the
arbitrator in this very important matter.

"Uncle Peter," said Agamemnon.

"Brother Peter," sobbed Mrs. Waddledot.

"Which are you an advocate for?" hystericised Mrs. Applebite.

"Vaccination or inoculation?" exclaimed everybody _ensemble_.