e sort o' young chap as'll believe anything. Bless
'im!"

Mr. Spriggs bounced up from his chair and stood over him with his fists
clinched. Mr. Price glared defiance.

"If you're so partikler you can make it up to him," he said, slowly.
"You've been a saving man, I know, and Emma 'ad a bit left her that
I ought to have 'ad. When you've done play-acting I'll go to bed. So
long!"

He got up, yawning, and walked to the door, and Mr. Spriggs, after a
momentary idea of breaking him in pieces and throwing him out into the
street, blew out the lamp and went upstairs to discuss the matter with
his wife until morning.

Mr. Spriggs left for his work next day with the question still
undecided, but a pretty strong conviction that Mr. Price would have to
have his way. The wedding was only five days off, and the house was in
a bustle of preparation. A certain gloom which he could not shake off
he attributed to a raging toothache, turning a deaf ear to the various
remedies suggested by Uncle Gussie, and the name of an excellent dentist
who had broken a tooth of Mr. Potter's three times before extracting it.

Uncle Gussie he treated with bare civility in public, and to
blood-curdling threats in private. Mr. Price, ascribing the latter to
the toothache, also varied his treatment to his company; prescribing
whisky held in the mouth, and other agreeable remedies when there were
listeners, and recommending him to fill his mouth with cold water and
sit on the fire till it boiled, when they were alone.

He was at his worst on Thursday morning; on Thursday afternoon he came
home a bright and contented man. He hung his cap on the nail with a
flourish, kissed his wife, and, in full view of the disapproving Mr.
Price, executed a few clumsy steps on the hearthrug.

"Come in for a fortune?" inquired the latter, eying him sourly.

"No; I've saved one," replied Mr. Spriggs, gayly. "I wonder I didn't
think of it myself."

"Think of what?" inquired Mr. Price.

"You'll soon know," said Mr. Spriggs, "and you've only got yourself to
thank for it."

Uncle Gussie sniffed suspiciously; Mrs. Spriggs pressed for particulars.

"I've got out of the difficulty," said her husband, drawing his chair to
the tea-table. "Nobody'll suffer but Gussie."

"Ho!" said that gentleman, sharply.

"I took the day off," said Mr. Spriggs, smiling contentedly at his wife,
"and went to see a friend of mine, Bill White the policeman, and told
him about Gussie."