“Water!  Ha! ha!  That is a good one, Bill”—­and Ellis spoke to the bar-tender—­“Mix us a couple of stiff brandy toddies.”

The bar-tender nodded and smiled his acceptance of the order, and the two men retired to a table that stood in a remote part of the room, at which they were soon served with the liquor.

“Bill mixes the best brandy toddy I ever tasted.  He knows his business,” said Ellis, as he put the glass to his lips.  “Isn’t it fine?”

“It is very good,” replied Wilkinson, as he sipped the tempting mixture.

But his thoughts were turning homeward, and he scarcely perceived the taste of what he drank.  Suddenly, he pushed the glass from him, and, making a motion to rise from the table, said—­

“Indeed, Ellis, I must go home.  My child is sick, and Mary will be distressed at my absence.  Come around to my store, to-morrow, and we will talk this matter over.  Neither you nor I are now in a fit state to discuss so grave a matter.

" Sit down, will you!”

This was the reply of Ellis, as he caught quickly the arm of his friend, and almost forced him, by main strength, to resume his seat.

“There, now,” he added, as Wilkinson resumed his seat.  “Never put off until to-morrow what can as well be done to-day.  That is my motto.  I want to talk with you about Cara, and no time is so good as the present.”

“Well, well,” returned Wilkinson, impatiently.  “What do you want to say?  Speak quickly, and to the point.”

“Just what I’m going to do.  But, first, I must see the bottom of my tumbler.  There, now; come, you must do the same.  Drink to good old times, and eternal friendship—­drink, my fast and faithful friend!”

The warmth of the room and the quick effects of a strong glass of brandy toddy were making rapid advances on Ellis’s partial state of inebriety.

Wilkinson emptied his glass, and then said—­

“Speak, now, I’m all attention.”

“Well, you see, Jack,” and Ellis leaned over towards Wilkinson familiarly, and rested his arm upon his knee.  You see, Jack, that huzzy of mine—­if I must call the dear girl by such a name—­is leading me the deuce of a life.  Confound her pretty face!  I love her, and would do almost any thing to please her; but she won’t be pleased at any thing.  She combs my head for me as regularly as the day comes.”

“Hush—­hush!  Don’t talk so of Cara.  Her temper may be a little uncertain, but that is her weakness.  She is your wife, and you must bear with these things.  It isn’t manly in you to be vexed at every trifle.”

Trifle!  Humph!  I’d like you to have a week of my experience.  You wouldn’t talk any more about trifles.”

“You should humour her a great deal, Harry.  I am not so sure that you are not quite as much to blame for these differences and fallings out as she is.”

" I wasn’t to blame to-night, I am sure.  Didn’t I bring home Prescott, thinking that she would be delighted to have me sit the evening with her and read so charming an author?  But, at the very proposition, she flared up, and said she didn’t want to hear my musty old histories.  Humph!  A nice way to make a man love his home.  Better for her and me, too, I’m thinking, that she had listened to the history, and kept her husband by her side.”