The Rutland daily globe. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1873-1877, 1874-08-29

streaming perspiration from his brow. Han
past six Mary would soon be at home now
the "surprise" must really be acceler-
ated
al really think the oysters must be done
on one side now" said Harry, cycling the
fry.pan scientifically, and making dive at
its contents with his fork. "Halloo why,
they're as hard as bullets What on earth
is the matter2"
"He stared with discomhtted eyes at the
found, ad imantinc balls that he imagined
juicy hearted oysters!
"I'm not bewitched, am / ?" he pondered
I've heard of money changing to dry leaves,
but l never heard of oysters being trans
formed to stone 1t can't be possible that
it is possible, and I've been and gone and
done it I've dredged my oysters in plaster
of Paris that was brought in for the garden
instead of tho flour Here's pretty blum
der! All the oysters spoiled !-twenty-fi
of EN- at five cents apiece, and all through
my stupidity
AT the same moment the spout of the
britannia coffee-pot parted company with
its main reservoir, and the coffee grounds,
water, and melting metal poured into the
fire in confused steam, ashes, and noise.
While Harry Kneller gazed at this chaos
with dim idea that it would be best to
evacuate the kitchen promptly before the
| occurrence of any more disasters, the two
fat-irons, impelled by som, unforeseen
hydraulic pressure, flew up against tae
ceiling, coming noisily down among china
cups and piled-up plates, the pot cover fol-
| lowing with a noise like the report of artil-
lery, and giving Mr. Kneller smart rap on
the side of the head as it came down, which
stretched him on the floor still holding the
fossilcd oyster out on the end of a toasting
fork.
While Harry lay prone on the kitchen
| oil-cloth considering within himself wheth-
er he was killed dead, MORALLY wounded,
or not hurt at all, the door opened, and
Mrs Kneler rushed in pale and breathe
less.
.'He has shot hiinself--T know he has.
He has committed suicide Oh, Harry my
own, own husband, speak to me! Tell me
you are not dead"
mol don't think l am, enunciated Nj
Kneller slowly, as his wife threw herself on
her knees beside him. nearly strangling him
with the fervency of her embrace. Only
I've smashed the china, and fried the
oysters in plaster of Paris, and melted the
nose off the coffed-pot. But I'm not dcad'
think
And while Mary assisted him to rise, in q
little hysteric tremor between laughing and
crying, he looked sheepishly round on the
chaos and ruin that surrounded the death
agonies of his ambition as n cook.
You Sec Matte," he said glancing dol
orously down at his ash-besprinkled habili
ments, wanted to give you little surprise
and"
"And you have entirely succeeded, my
love, said his wife, mischievously. You're
a splendid lawyer, dear, I've no doubt; bu
you'll never succeed in life as a cook
wish you'd tell me one thing, Matte, hi
said that evening, as Mrs KHeller handed
him his second cup of tea.
"And what is that?"
"Why didn't my buckwheat batter foam
over and bubble as yours does? | stirred
it until my arm was lame
"My DEAR said Mary, laughing, ''d'
you suppose the buckwheat batter didn'
know the difference between YOU and me-!
"Nonsense
"Of course it's nonsense, said Mary, de
murely, eff you mean your attempting t
fry oysters in plaster of Pars!"
And Mr. Kneller die not answer.
| Uonrc