doubt she'd do it much better than I do--MUCH. No, Caudle! I WON'T
HOLD MY TONGUE. I think I ought to be mistress of my own washing by
this time--and after the wife I've been to you, it's cruel of you to
go on as you do.

"Don't tell me about putting the washing out. I say it isn't so
cheap--I don't care whether you wash by the dozen or not--it isn't so
cheap; I've reduced everything, and I save at least a shilling a
week. What do you say?

"A TRUMPERY SHILLING?

"Ha! I only hope to goodness you'll not come to want, talking of
shillings in the way you do. Now, don't begin about your comfort:
don't go on aggravating me, and asking me if your comfort's not worth
a shilling a week? That's nothing at all to do with it--nothing:
but that's your way--when I talk of one thing, you talk of another;
that's so like you men, and you know it. Allow me to tell you, Mr.
Caudle, that a shilling a week is two pound twelve a year; and take
two pound twelve a year for, let us say, thirty years, and--well, you
needn't groan, Mr. Caudle--I don't suppose it will be so long; oh,
no! you'll have somebody else to look after your washing long before
that--and if it wasn't for my dear children's sake I shouldn't care
how soon. You know my mind--and so, good-night, Mr. Caudle."


"Thankful for her silence," writes Caudle, "I was fast dropping to
sleep; when, jogging my elbow, my wife observed--'Mind, there's the
cold mutton to-morrow--nothing hot till that's gone. Remember, too,
as it was a short wash to-day, we wash again on Wednesday.'"