 | The fiend's delight |  |
A Tale of Two Feet.
My friend Zacharias was accustomed to sleep
with a heated stone at his feet; for the feet of Mr.
Zacharias were as the feet of the dead. One night
he retired as usual, and it chanced that he awoke
some hours afterwards with a well-defined smell of
burning leather, making it pleasant for his nostrils.
“Mrs. Zacharias,” said he, nudging his snoring
spouse, “I wish you would get up and look about.
I think one of the children must have fallen into
the fire.”
The lady, who from habit had her own feet
stowed comfortably away against the warm stomach
of her lord and master, declined to make the investigation
demanded, and resumed the nocturnal
melody. Mr. Zacharias was angered; for the first
time since she had sworn to love, honour, and obey,
this female was in open rebellion. He decided
upon prompt and vigorous action. He quietly
moved over to the back side of the bed and braced
his shoulders against the wall. Drawing up his
sinewy knees to a level with his breast, he placed
the soles of his feet broadly against the back of the
insurgent, with the design of propelling her against
the opposite wall. There was a strangled snort,
then a shriek of female agony, and the neighbours
came in.
Mutual explanations followed, and Mr. Zacharias
walked the streets of Grass Valley next day as if
he were treading upon eggs worth a dollar a dozen.
| The fiend's delight | |