water into his milk, which was a bit too strong for him, "that I am a
firm believer in the occurrence of a period when Sunday will be to all
practical purposes perpetual."

"That is my belief, too," observed the School-master. "But it will be
ruinous to our good landlady to provide us with one of her exceptionally
fine Sunday breakfasts every morning."

"Thank you, Mr. Pedagog," returned Mrs. Smithers, with a smile. "Can't I
give you another cup of coffee?"

"You may," returned the School-master, pained at the lady's grammar, but
too courteous to call attention to it save by the emphasis with which he
spoke the word "may."

"That's one view to take of it," said the Idiot. "But in case we got a
Sunday breakfast every day in the week, we, on the other hand, would get
approximately what we pay for. You may fill my cup too, Mrs. Smithers."

"The coffee is all gone," returned the landlady, with a snap.

"Then, Mary," said the Idiot, gracefully, turning to the maid, "you may
give me a glass of ice-water. It is quite as warm, after all, as the
coffee, and not quite so weak. A perpetual Sunday, though, would have
its drawbacks," he added, unconscious of the venomous glances of the
landlady. "You, Mr. Whitechoker, for instance, would be preaching all
the time, and in consequence would soon break down. Then the effect upon
our eyes from habitually reading the Sunday newspapers day after day
would be extremely bad; nor must we forget that an eternity of Sundays
means the elimination 'from our midst,' as the novelists say, of