Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1891-05-08
ABOUT GEORGE MARTIAL.


shouldnTit be, should like to know
Here's my husband been writing this
year or more, and I confding in him
all hetime, as uRsuspicious as u now
born baby.
There's Glowing and cherishirg" for
you'll A man coming in, and eating his
dinner. calling rae Polly, and dear, just
ms II all the time he wasn't writing un-
known to me, and getting oceans of
money. that he spends on--the dear
knows what, for don't; and I'll war
rant, he's told all about tho hollow place
tn the bed where he has TO sleep. and the
shirt buttons, and the way | got my
gray silk at Ubsdell 81 Pierson's But
III show him up, and just let every
body know what n pitiful, underhanded,
tsoft-soaping Molly OF a mar he is.
He write, indeedl I'd as soon think
Sof our old gray cat sitting up by the
fro with spectacles on and trying to
crochet.
But this amt tho story.
You must know that il happened just
before New Years, I'd been making
up my mince pies and giving the house
good cleaning out and I was pretty
tired. had just got of my dress when
I thought heard something like talk
ing down stairs.
Now. Mr.. Martial was down there
and, of course. l suspected mischief,
for haven't lived forty-one years
good gracious! how my pen slips,
mean hirty-fve-without knowing that
ledgers up to a mans neck and ink
enough to drown him are no safeguards
against his own natural wickedness,
and, slipping on my gown l stole softly
down the stairs, bound to find out what
that talking meant, Us sure Us my
name was Polly Martial.
The door of the sitting room was
a little ajar, as good luck would have
Il, sitting there in his dressing gown-
tho gown made for him, and wonder
It didn't burn him-and his ledger
open before him (the old hypocrito);
but who he was talking to. l couldn't
for the life ofme make out, till it came
into my head to look through the crack
of tho door.
And then-but forty-one U mean
thirty-ave) years of experience of the
meanness OF mon in general. and his,
in particular, never would have made
me believe, if hadn't seen it with my
own eyes. that Mr.. Martial would have
been sitting in his own dining-room at
eight o'clock in the evening right under
the picture of his blessed mother. and
talking. and not only that but looking
at lean, scraggy, curly-headed
Frenchwoman.
wonder that he wasn't afraid that
his mothers portrait would come out
of the frame; and how he could take
Georgy on his knee. as he had done
that very evening, and kiss him-there-
by daubing himself dreadfully with
molasses-while he had all that wick
edness in his heart is a mystery beyond
my comprehension.
My first thought was to rush in and
confound them both. Then / rcmem-
bered ] had no hoops On; and it struck
me that it might be as well to find out
the full extent Of his deprayity before
l annihilated him.
II don't know how we shall manage
it." he was saying. my wife has
such sharp ears that she could hear II
cat stealing after a mouse
ut will be difficult, without doubt, -
answered mademoiselle; "but mon
sieur's affection WILL am sure, over
como au-what you call emf
obstacle"
II don't know" he said, rrubbing his
bald pate. 'If she hadn't Such ears;
but I'm afraid. now, sheIl be in on
u.s."
"And then, how can we get ut her
dressesp / can't go near her closet,
and If she should find you there"
Think of that! That scraggy thing
in my closet! As if it wasn't enough
to run away with my husband. but she
must want my clothes also!
Well" answered madomoiselle,
suppose try and see her. i can
what you call itP-fx her in five
minutes"
Fix me!-me, Folly Martiar The
demons meant TO aGsassinate me!
''But IL would be better II you had a
dress" insisted Mr.. Martial. Her
gray silk, for instance"
Suppose you cali and tell her you
are poor seamstress in want Of work
sand offer To sew for her at three shall
lings day. She'll nibble at that bait,
and when she goes out OF the room yon
can Just whisk up TO her closet and
clip out with the gray silk"
There ladies! There's Mr.. Martial
for you.
My best silk that / bought at
Ubsdells, and paid eight dollHs for
the making and trimming. and that
lean-yellow-faced trollop was to "whisk
up" AID "slip out with my silks Ugh!
the wretch!
/ don't faint because am too heavy
and Yves too mad for Mysteries. br3
the awful discovery OF his per6dy. and
her cool impudence actually made me
SO dizzy that don't rightly know what
else was said and done, only she was
TO como at ten o'clock the next morn
ing to play the part OF the poor seam
stress; neither can tell how / got to
my own room, or how j ever managed