She Wasn't Ready. The most diffl
cult thing, says s cynical old bach., in
the world for a woman to do is to get
ready to go any where. And there is
nothing a woman will resent quicker or
more fiercely than an intimation that
she may possibly miss the train. Oar
friend Brnyfogle gives us an instance of
this. Mrs. Bray f ogle was supposed to
take the ten o'clock train on the Bee
Line to visit some relatives in an inte
rior town. Having suffered on previous
occasions for prejudicioos suggestions,
Bray thought he would let things take
their natural course. So he sipped his
coffee and ate his eggs on toast while
Madam curled and powdered, danced
attendance on the looking glass, and
tied hair on the back of her head.
Then Bray sat by the stove for an
hour reading the morning paper, while
the madam still continued to get ready.
At last jnst bb he had reached the final
paragraph, madam tied her bonnet
strings under her chin, took one long,
lingering, loving look at the image re
flected in the g'ilss. and announced :
Well, my dear, I'm ready.
'Beady for what ?' asked Bray in well
affected astonishment
'To go to the depot to be sure,' said
Mrs. Brayfogle, tartly.
Oh !' said Bray, I'd forgotten. 'Well,
madam,' continued he, looking at his
watch, that train has been gone thir
teen minutes. Just keep on your
things, and youTl be ready for the train
to-morrow,"
We draw ft vail over what followed.
