the mattress which they lay upon was
now supported by the floor.

But this misfortune was their preservation--for when the mattress came
down, it came down upon Snarleyyow. The animal contrived to clear his
loins, or he would have perished; but he could not clear his long mangy
tail, which was now caught and firmly fixed in a new species of trap,
the widow's broadest proportions having firmly secured him by it.
Snarleyyow pulled, and pulled, but he pulled in vain--he was fixed--he
could not bite, for the mattress was between them--he pulled, and he
howled, and barked, and turned himself every way, and yelped; and had
not his tail been of coarse and thick dimensions, he might have left it
behind him, so great were his exertions; but no, it was impossible. The
widow was a widow of substance, as Vanslyperken had imagined, and as she
now proved to the dog--the only difference was, that the master wished
to be in the very situation the dog was now so anxious to escape from--
to wit, tailed on to the widow. Babette, who soon perceived that the
dog was so, now got out of the bed, and begging her mistress not to move
an inch, and seizing the broom, she hammered Snarleyyow most
unmercifully, without any fear of retaliation. The dog redoubled his
exertions, and the extra weight of Babette being now removed, he was at
last able to withdraw his appendage, and probably feeling that there was
now no chance of a quiet night's rest in his present quarters, he made a
bolt out of the room down the stairs, and into the street. Babette
chased him down, threw the broom at his head as he cleared the
threshold, and then bolted the door.

"O the beast!" exclaimed Babette, going up stairs again out of breath;
"he's gone at last, ma'am."

"Yes," replied the widow, rising up with difficulty from the hole made
with her own centre of gravity; "and--and his master shall go too. Make
love, indeed--the atomy--the shrimp--the dried up stock-fish. Love,
quotha--and refuse to hang a cur like that. O dear! O dear! get me
something to put on. One of my best chemises all in rags--and his nasty
teeth in my leg in two places, Babette. Well, well, Mr Vanslyperken,
we shall see--I don't care for their custom. Mr Vanslyperken, you'll
not sit on my sofa again, I can tell you;--hug your nasty cur--quite
good enough for you. Yes, yes, Mr Vanslyperken."

By this time the widow had received a fresh supply of linen from
Babette; and as soon as she had