bed, or ought to be.

She was smoothing old Jim's neck, crooning over him,
talking to him in her motherly way, telling him what a
ruffian he was and how ashamed she was of him for
getting the hair worn off under his collar, and he a
horse old enough to know better, Bobby's "Toodles,"
an animated doormat of a dog, sniffing at her skirt,
when Otto and his friend hove in sight.

"The top of the mornin' to ye, Otto Kling, and ye
never see a better and a finer. And what can I do for
ye?--for ye wouldn't be lavin' them gimcracks of
yours this time O'day unless there was somethin' up."

"No, I don't got nudding you can do for me, Kitty.
It's dis gentlemans wants someting--and so I bring
him over."

"That's mighty kind of ye, Otto--wait till I get me
book. Careful, Mike." The Irishman had just dumped
a trunk on the sidewalk, ready to be loaded on Jim's
wagon. "And now," continued his mistress, "go to
the office and bring me my order-book--where'll I go
for your baggage, sir?"

"That is a matter I will talk about later." He had
taken her all in with a rapid glance--her rosy, laughing
face, her head covered by a close-fitting hood, the warm
shawl crossed over her full bosom and knotted in the