Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 104 December 1901 to May 1902 . the bed. Theywere certainly pleasant to look at. That etching is good, I observed; whatis it—a meadow scene? That, said my wife, is TrafalgarSquare on a rainy night. I threw off my coat, undid my sleeve-links, and rolled up my sleeves. Well, herewe are, my dear! I exclaimed. Where arethe hooks? My heart sank at the thought that theyhad been forgotten, and I should have tololl around with a book. Here they are, said my wife. And the wire, the wire ? I cried, againalarmed. I have it right here in a box, repliedmy wife. This you
Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 104 December 1901 to May 1902 . the bed. Theywere certainly pleasant to look at. That etching is good, I observed; whatis it—a meadow scene? That, said my wife, is TrafalgarSquare on a rainy night. I threw off my coat, undid my sleeve-links, and rolled up my sleeves. Well, herewe are, my dear! I exclaimed. Where arethe hooks? My heart sank at the thought that theyhad been forgotten, and I should have tololl around with a book. Here they are, said my wife. And the wire, the wire ? I cried, againalarmed. I have it right here in a box, repliedmy wife. This you want here, do you not? Isaid, seizing a longish Vandyck, and rush-ing to the fireplace, where I stepped on aninfant chair of my sons and tried to reacheight feet to the moulding. Not at all, said my wife, it is too nar-row for there. We will put the huntingscene there. But all these little pictureswill have to come down first, and she point-ed contemptuously to numerous coloredharlequins and flower girls in white framesthat had been suitable to my sons juvenile. THE PIGEON—An Imitation NOT TO B£ DISTURBED Now, Harold, put azvay those toys that lie there in a heap. Shs-s, Grandmamma, dont speak so loud—/ think my foots asleep / eves. I mounted a chair and began re-moving these pictures. On each occasionthat I attempted to lift the wire, I jerkedloose the picture hook, which hit me in theface and then rattled down behind a bureauor table. Dont throw the hooks away, protestedmy wife, we can use them again. I refrained from laughing at my wifesmisunderstanding my little diversion withthe hooks. Behind each picture was an ac-cumulation of carpet sweepings that ascend-ed to my throat and nostrils and suspendedrespiration. I cannot see why my wife re-pudiated the statement that it was was dust. When the condemned pictures and partof my facial cuticle had been removed, Iplaced the hunting scene back up on thetable and prepared to string it with comes i
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