"I'll try to be, dear," pleaded Mrs. Korner.
"Where's your books?" Mr. Korner suddenly demanded.
"My books?" repeated Mrs. Korner, in astonishment.
Mr. Korner struck the corner of the table with his fist, which made most things in the room, including Mrs. Korner, jump.
"Don't you defy me, my girl," said Mr. Korner. "You know whatermean, your housekeepin' books."
They happened to be in the drawer of the chiffonier. Mrs. Korner produced them, and passed them to her husband with a trembling hand. Mr. Korner, opening one by hazard, bent over it with knitted brows.
"Pearsterme, my girl, you can't add," said Mr. Korner.
"I--I was always considered rather good at arithmetic, as a girl," stammered Mrs. Korner.
"What you mayabeen as a girl, and what--twenner-seven and nine?" fiercely questioned Mr. Korner.
"Thirty-eight--seven," commenced to blunder the terrified Mrs. Korner.
"Know your nine tables or don't you?" thundered Mr. Korner.
"I used to," sobbed Mrs. Korner.
A light, and lightweight, story. A fairly new wife laments that her husband is so steady and good-natured, and not more manly--like the men she reads about or sees in plays. Quite by accident, he gives her her wish. Similar, but not as funny as Thurber's, The Catbird Seat.