University of Virginia Library

HE WANTED TO KNOW THE MENU.

JAY CHARLTON'S admirable articles on cookery are not always productive of the happiest results, although the fault does not lie with him. Mr. Jopper is, ordinarily, a quiet man, and sufficiently submissive to suit the most exacting wife. But that discretion which is the better part of valor is quite frequently dulled and rendered ineffective when the possessor is full of liquor. It was just in this deplorable, and, we may add, unusual state, Mr. Jopper appeared at his home Monday evening. At the "store" they had been talking of Mr. Charlton's recent article on the importance of a well-furnished table; and this topic appeared to have engrossed his mind to the entire exclusion of every thing else. He found his wife mixing up the pancake batter.

It was evident he was unsettled as to the exact time of day.

"What's the menu?" he hilariously shouted.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded,

giving him a look that would, in sober moments, have subdued him at once.

"The menu, the menu: that's what's my language on this occasion," he boisterously repeated, not noting her expression.

"Are you going to bed?" she hoarsely muttered.

"No, I ain't going to bed, not by a jugful, until I find out what I find out." He caught hold of a chair to steady himself. "I tell you, Mrs. Jopper, there's goin' to be change here at once."

"Oh!" It was all she said; but it had a mighty significance.

"Yez, zir, goin' to be a change," continued the unfortunate man, flourishing his unoccupied hand for emphasis. "I ain't goin' to stand this sort of living any longer. There's got to be a change in the menu; or, first thing you know, I'll get depressed, an' be comin' home drunk,—drunk, by gracious!"

"Oh!"

"Yez, zir. Old girl, you've got to hike aroun' and fling some style inter the victuals. You've"—

She was on him in a flash,—on him with flashing eyes, and plying fingers, and heated breath.

"What do you say, you drunken vagabond?" she screamed, placing her knees on his chest, and clutching her fingers into his hair, and twisting his head with such fury, that it was a great wonder she didn't dislocate his neck.

"Lemme up!" he yelled.

"You want a change, do you, in the cooking?" she hissed.

"No, I don't! no, I don't!" he howled. "Hope to die if I do!"

"Want me to hike around, eh, an' put on style, you drunken lout?" she continued in a voice suppressed by passion.

"Lemme up!" he screamed.

"What's the menu, is it? What's the menu? Oh, you old whiskey tank! I'll show you what's the menu!" and she gave his head a terrific wrench.

"Ouch!" he yelled.

"Do you want to know what's the menu now?" she hissed.

"No!" he shouted.

"Will you go to bed?"

"Yes!" he howled.

Then she let him up, and, agreeably to promise, he went directly to bed, and hasn't manifested the faintest anxiety in regard to the menu once since.