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“I’m er-goin’ t’ give more ’n’ more time t’ pomes f’m now on,” was his reply. “I bin er-doin’ pieces outer Longfeller ’n’ Berownin’, but nex’ week Miss Berrit’ is er-goin’ t’ learn me Shakesper.”

“Then, Darius,” said I, “I clearly perceive that these increasing demands upon your time make it inadvisable for you to remain longer in my employ. After to-day I shall have no further need of your services.”

“D’yer mean I’m fy-ud?” asked Darius.

“That,” I answered, “is the substance of my meaning. Here are your wages for the coming week. You need not come here any more.”

And I wheeled, and walked into the house.

I am perplexed to account for the singular circumstance that there are days when everything, from the attempt to part your hair in the morning to the position of your pet pillow at night, is an unequivocal failure. The day in question was such a one. The luncheon