on a glaring new player-piano, till
Mrs. Riesling shrieked, "Come on! Let's put some pep in it! Get out your
fiddle, Paul, and I'll try to make Georgie dance decently."

The Babbitts were in earnest. They were plotting for the escape to
Maine. But when Mrs. Babbitt hinted with plump smilingness, "Does
Paul get as tired after the winter's work as Georgie does?" then Zilla
remembered an injury; and when Zilla Riesling remembered an injury the
world stopped till something had been done about it.

"Does he get tired? No, he doesn't get tired, he just goes crazy, that's
all! You think Paul is so reasonable, oh, yes, and he loves to make out
he's a little lamb, but he's stubborn as a mule. Oh, if you had to live
with him--! You'd find out how sweet he is! He just pretends to be
meek so he can have his own way. And me, I get the credit for being
a terrible old crank, but if I didn't blow up once in a while and get
something started, we'd die of dry-rot. He never wants to go any place
and--Why, last evening, just because the car was out of order--and
that was his fault, too, because he ought to have taken it to the
service-station and had the battery looked at--and he didn't want to go
down to the movies on the trolley. But we went, and then there was one
of those impudent conductors, and Paul wouldn't do a thing.

"I was standing on the platform waiting for the people to let me into
the car, and this beast, this conductor, hollered at me, 'Come on, you,
move up!' Why, I've never had anybody speak to me that way in all my
life! I was so astonished I just turned to him and said--I thought there
must be some mistake, and so I said to him, perfectly pleasant, 'Were
you speaking to me?' and he went on and bellowed at me, 'Yes, I was!
You're keeping the whole car from starting!' he said, and then I saw he
was one of these dirty ill-bred hogs that kindness is wasted on, and so
I stopped and looked right at him, and I said, 'I--beg--your--pardon,
I am not doing anything of the kind,' I said, 'it's the people ahead of
me, who won't move up,' I said, 'and furthermore, let me tell you, young
man, that you're a low-down, foul-mouthed, impertinent skunk,' I said,
'and you're no gentleman! I certainly intend to report you, and we'll
see,' I said, 'whether a lady is to be insulted by any drunken bum that
chooses to put on a ragged uniform, and I'd thank you,' I said, 'to keep
your filthy abuse to yourself.' And then I waited for Paul to sho