Carraway.
Carraway laughed. "There you go again," he said. "I wonder why women
can't argue without becoming ridiculous? It would be mighty poor economy
to pay $4 for a megaphone as a substitute for a $2 beehive."
"That is true," said Mrs. Carraway. "I never thought of that."
"Of course you didn't," retorted Carraway, triumphantly. "Of course you
didn't; and that's what I mean when I say you argue like a woman. You
get hold of what seems on the surface to be a regular solar-plexus
retort, and fail to see how it becomes a boomerang before you can say
Jack Robinson."
"I suppose if I hadn't been worried about the vase I would have thought
of it," said Mrs. Carraway, meekly. "It worries me to see a $150 vase
used for a purpose that a fifty-cent calico bag would serve quite as
well."
Carraway glanced searchingly at his wife.
"Well--ah--hem!" he said. "Quite right, my dear, quite right. I think,
on the whole, you would better get the calico bag."
For a few days after this little discussion Carraway was very reticent
about his utilitarian ideas. The more he thought of his wife's retort
the less secure he felt in his own position, and he was very sorry he
had spoken about boomerangs and solar-plexus retorts. But with time he
recovered his equanimity, and early in December returned to his old
ways.
"I've just been up in the attic," he said to his wife one Sunday
afternoon, when he appeared on the scene rather dusty of aspect.
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