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ing, ducky,' suggested my wife. "'O, no, dearest, bread pudding. I was always fond of 'em.' "'Call them bread pudding!' exclaimed my wife, while her lips slightly curled with contempt. "'Certainly, my dear--reckon I've had enough at the Sherwood House, to know bread pudding, my love, by all means.' "'Husband--this is really too bad--plum pudding is twice as hard to make as bread pudding, and is more expensive, and is a great deal better. I say this is plum pudding, sir!' and my pretty wife's brow flushed with excitement. "'My love, my sweet, my dear love,' exclaimed we soothingly, 'do not get angry. I am sure it is very good, if it is bread pudding.' "'You mean, low wretch,' fiercely replied my wife, in a higher tone, 'you know it's plum pudding.' "'Then, ma'am, it's so meanly put together and so badly burned, that the devil himself wouldn't know it. I tell you, madam, most distinctly and emphatically, that it is bread pudding and the meanest kind at that.' "'It is plum pudding,' shrieked my wife, as she hurled a glass of claret in my face, the glass itself tapping the claret from my nose. "'Bread pudding!' gasped we, pluck to the last, and grasped a roasted chicken by the left leg. "'Plum pudding!' rose above the din, as I had a distinct perception of feeling two plates smashed across my head. "'Bread pudding!' we groaned in a rage, as the chicken left our hand and flying with swift wing across the table landed in madam's bosom. "'Plum pudding!' resounded the war-cry from the enemy, as the gravy-dish took us where we had been depositing a part of our dinner, and a plate of beets landed upon our white vest. "'Bread pudding forever!' shouted we in defiance, dodging the soup tureen, and falling beneath its contents. "'Plum pudding!' yelled the amiable spouse; noticing our misfortune, she determined to keep us down by piling upon our head the dishes with no gentle hand. Then in rapid succession, followed the war-cries. 'Plum pudding!' she shrieked with every dish. "'Bread pudding,' in smothered tones, came up from the pile in reply. Then it was 'plum pudding,' in rapid succession, the last cry growing feebler, till just as I can distinctly recollect, it had grown to a whisper. 'Plum pudding' resounded like thunder, followed by a tremendous crash as my wife leaped upon the pile with her delicate feet, and commenced jumping up and down, when, thank heaven! we awoke, and thus saved our life. W
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