"Perhaps, mamma," wimpered out she, "Frederic is a shop-boy, and
don't like me to know that he is not a gentleman."

"A shopboy," says Betsy, "he a shopboy! O no, no, no! more likely
a wretched willain of a murderer, stabbin and robing all day, and
feedin you with the fruits of his ill-gotten games!"

More crying and screechin here took place, in which the baby
joined; and made a very pretty consort, I can tell you.

"He can't be a robber," cries missis; "he's too good, too kind, for
that: besides, murdering is done at night, and Frederic is always
home at eight."

"But he can be a forger," says Betsy, "a wicked, wicked FORGER.
Why does he go away every day? to forge notes, to be sure. Why
does he go to the city? to be near banks and places, and so do it
more at his convenience."

"But he brings home a sum of money every day--about thirty
shillings--sometimes fifty: and then he smiles, and says it's a
good day's work. This is not like a forger," said pore Mrs. A.

"I have it--I have it!" screams out Mrs. S. "The villain--the
sneaking, double-faced Jonas! he's married to somebody else he is,
and that's why he leaves you, the base biggymist!"

At this, Mrs. Altamont, struck all of a heap, fainted clean away.
A dreadful business it was--hystarrix; then hystarrix, in course,
from Mrs. Shum; bells ringin, child squalin, suvvants tearin up and