THE THROUGHNESS OF TIPTON.

YES, sir, I'm through!"

Tipton had just staggered into the car, and, having deposited an immense load of bundles and packages around him, stared ahead of him into the back of the next passenger, and uttered this vigorous sentiment. Tipton had a habit of talking to himself. Years of oppression had brought him to it. It was his one relief. Whenever, under the weight of the oftentimes heavy burdens that Mrs. Tipton imposed upon him, his spirit revolted, and his sense of independence was unusually stirred, Tipton got rid of his feelings in airy speech. A long experience had taught him to train his voice to any desired pitch, so it was rare indeed that anyone caught him at this consolatory trick. His most impassioned thoughts were, in his speech, duly curbed and checked by proximity to other receptive objects in the order of their receptivity. So that in moments of his greatest excitement it was not always possible to reveal himself fully to the mysterious person whom he addressed, who, however, was always good enough to understand him, to sympathize with him, and to listen at all times with a ready ear. Who this person was may ever remain a mystery. It may have been Tipton's other self. It may have been some kindly and genial and helpful spirit that had taken refuge in Tipton's nervous and wiry little body. At any rate, this other person, whoever he was, was a gentleman. He had a keen sense of justice, and he always understood. Moreover, he was a good listener, and never interrupted or talked back. Yet his invariable silent agreement was in no sense a weakness. His was the office of a friend, and Tipton felt that he could be imposed upon at all times, which is the most rigorous test of true friendship.

"Of course," continued Tipton, as he settled down in his seat, "as you know, my wife is a peculiar person. Undoubtedly she is fond of me, and I must say she has marked ability in many ways,

besides being attractive. The trouble with her is that she likes to have her own way, and by keeping at it all the time she generally succeeds. I've got other things to do. I can't always be bickering and trying to hold my own. It's easier for me to do as she tells me than it is to refuse, for that always makes trouble. I know, of course, that down in her heart Sarah doesn't mean anything, butYes, sir, I'm through! I'm going to run my own house!"

Tipton's eyes brightened and the thought, growing swiftly to large proportions, took entire possession of him. The recollection of all he had endured in the past lashed him into a fury.

"What am I, anyway?" he muttered. "A man? What an idiot I've been! She'll think a good deal more of me, too. Let's see, I'll-Sarah, come here! What do I want? I want you! Now, my dear, we may as well understand each other. Hitherto, to keep peace in the family, I've done a great many things that no other self-respecting man would do, AND I'VE GOT THROUGH! Hereafter, when you want any shopping done in town, you do it yourself. I carry no more bundles! Not only that, but you hire your own servants. You will also attend to the marketing, and if it exceeds a certain sum a week, I'll take it out of your allowance. As for your buying me any more clothes of any description, why, I won't have it. I'm through, Sarah! Hereafter I run this house to suit myself."

The whistle of the train interrupted Tipton at this point, and his face began instinctively to lose its stern, unyielding expression and take on a more plastic and humble tone. Tipton was nearing home. Every day for years he had rehearsed that same speech to his other self, and every day, as the whistle sounded, he had merged back into the old burden-bearing and tractable husband. He slowly gathered up his bundles and trudged away from the station.

"My dear," said Mrs. Tipton, as she relieved her husband

of his freight, and kissed him in a half-motherly way, “we are going out sailing."

"When?" said Tipton.

"Now," replied his wife. "Mr. Vanton has a new boat, you know, and he has asked us to go this afternoon."

"He didn't come around here, did he?" said Tipton, faintly. That, he thought to himself, would be too much. He had never liked Vanton overmuch, and that gentleman had been known to pay attention to certain married ladies. Tipton was, therefore, suspicious.

"Certainly not," replied Mrs. Tipton, who despite her authoritative temperament, was the soul of propriety. "He sent a note addressed to us both, and I opened it and replied that we would go. Come quick and change your clothes. We must be at the dock at four, and the carriage will be here directly."

She motioned Tipton upstairs, and he went without a word. Once alone with himself, he was careful not to raise his voice, exercising that premonitory caution which previous experience had rendered necessary. Mrs. Tipton had caught him once, in one of his unguarded and excited moments, declaiming his wrongs to the empty air, and his life had been made more miserable for days afterwards. There was now, however, a sense of subdued joy about his movements that the promise of a sail on the water, even in another man's boat, had given him.

"So Vanton has a new boat," he muttered to himself, as he put on a pair of white duck trousers, two sizes too large, that his wife had bought the week before at a bargain sale. "He's probably been out three or four times, and thinks he knows all about handling her. Well, Vanton has been sitting on the yacht club piazza for the past three years, instructing other men in nautical terms, and it's about time he tried his hand at it." Tipton arrayed himself in a bright green flannel shirt of his wife's selection, put on the least objectionable tie, and prepared to descend. "I'll bet," he

said to himself, "that I won't get a chance at the tiller all the afternoon. But it will be some fun sailing, anyway. By Jove! I don't know whether it's a safe thing, after all, to take chances with one's wife and a fellow like that, unless he has some man to sail-but he'd never do that he knows too much himself."

Mrs. Tipton was waiting for him downstairs in a new shirt waist and a becoming sailor hat.

"Do you think we'd better go?" he said. "Vanton may not know too much about sailing a boat, and-"

Mrs. Tipton for answer took him by the arm and led him to the carriage.

"Get in," she said briefly, by way of reply. And Tipton got in.

The boat was a jib and mainsail affair of the knockabout type, thirty feet long, newly painted, with a diminutive cabin, and entirely spick and span. Vanton asked Tipton to lend a hand, "if you don't mind," he said. "I could have got a boy, but I thought you might like to learn something about a boat." They hauled up the mainsail and jib, and Vanton stood at the tiller and told Tipton what to do.

"Let go your cable," he shouted, as the breeze filled the jib, and Tipton cast off, and ran aft and made fast the jib sheet.

"Isn't this glorious!" exclaimed Mrs. Tipton, as the boat slipped out of the bay into the broad Sound. "Do you know, Mr. Vanton, this silly man didn't want to come. I believe he was actually afraid. That is," she said, correcting herself, "he thought perhaps it might be too rough for me."

Mrs. Tipton was always careful of her husband, and however much she might ridicule him in private she never made him. appear in a wrong light before other people.

Vanton let the Birdie come up into the wind, while he tightened the jib sheet, regardless of Tipton's proximity to that important rope.