a big easy-chair, which Euphemia was determined I should have, because I really needed it when I came home at night, tired with my long day's work at the office. I had always been used to an easy-chair, and it was one of her most delighted dreams to see me in a real nice one, comfortably smoking my pipe in my own house, after eating my own delicious little supper in company with my own dear wife. We selected the chair and then we were about to order the things sent out to our future home, when I happened to think that we had no bed. I called Euphemia's attention to the fact.
She was thunderstruck.
"I never thought of that," she said. "We shall have to give up the stove."
"Not at all," said I; "we can't do that. We must give up the easy-chair."
"Oh, that would be too bad," she said. "The house would seem like nothing to me without the chair!"
"But we must do without it, my dear," said I, "at least for a while. I can sit out on deck and smoke of an evening, you know."
"Yes," said Euphemia. "You can sit on the bulwarks, and I can sit by you. That will do very well. I'm sure I'm glad the boat has bulwarks."
So we resigned the easy-chair and bought a bedstead and some very plain bedding. The bedstead is what is sometimes called a "scissors-bed." We could shut it up when we did not want to sleep in it and stand it against the wall.
When we packed up our trunks and left the boarding-house Euphemia fairly skipped with joy.
We went down to Ginx's in the first boat, having arranged that our furniture should be sent to us in the
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