ine and
she my wife--that I had married her at such-and-such a time in
such-and-such a place, but she had forgotten her number, and of course I
could not remember her name. Well, sir, she called my attention to the
fact that the child looked like me, and really it did seem to resemble
me--a common thing in the Territory--and, to cut the story short, I put
it in my nursery, and she left. And by the ghost of Orson Hyde, when
they came to wash the paint off that child it was an Injun! Bless my
soul, you don't know anything about married life. It is a perfect dog's
life, sir--a perfect dog's life. You can't economize. It isn't
possible. I have tried keeping one set of bridal attire for all
occasions. But it is of no use. First you'll marry a combination of
calico and consumption that's as thin as a rail, and next you'll get a
creature that's nothing more than the dropsy in disguise, and then you've
got to eke out that bridal dress with an old balloon. That is the way it
goes. And think of the wash-bill--(excuse these tears)--nine hundred and
eighty-four pieces a week! No, sir, there is no such a thing as economy
in a family like mine. Why, just the one item of cradles--think of it!
And vermifuge! Soothing syrup! Teething rings! And 'papa's watches' for
the babies to play with! And things to scratch the furniture with! And
lucifer matches for them to eat, and pieces of glass to cut themselves
with! The item of glass alone would support your family, I venture to
say, sir. Let me scrimp and squeeze all I can, I still can't get ahead as
fast as I feel I ought to, with my opportunities. Bless you, sir, at a
time when I had seventy-two wives in this house, I groaned under the
pressure of keeping thousands of dollars tied up in seventy-two bedsteads
when the money ought to have been out at interest; and I just sold out
the whole stock, sir, at a sacrifice, and built a bedstead seven feet
long and ninety-six feet wide. But it was a failure, sir. I could not
sleep. It appeared to me that the whole seventy-two women snored at once.
The roar was deafening. And then the danger of it! That was what I was
looking at. They would all draw in their breath at once, and you could
actually see the walls of the house suck in--and then they would all
exhale their breath at once, and you could see the walls swell out, and
strain, and hear the rafters crack, and the shingles grind together. My
friend, take an old man's advice,