The tradesman was very melancholy for two or three days, and had appeared all that time to be pensive and sad, and his wife, with all her arts, entreaties, anger, and tears, could not get it out of him; only now and then she heard him fetch a deep sigh, and at another time say, he wished he was dead, and the like expressions.  At last, she began the discourse with him in a respectful, obliging manner, but with the utmost importunity to get it out of him, thus:—­

Wife.—­My dear, what is the matter with you?

Husb.—­Nothing.

Wife.—­Nay, don’t put me off with an answer that signifies nothing; tell me what is the matter, for I am sure something extraordinary is the case—­tell me, I say, do tell me. [Then she kisses him.]

Husb.—­Prithee, don’t trouble me.

Wife.—­I will know what is the matter

Husb.—­I tell you nothing is the matter—­what should be the matter?

Wife.—­Come, my dear, I must not be put off so; I am sure, if it be any thing ill, I must have my share of it; and why should I not be worthy to know it, whatever it is, before it comes upon me.

Husb.—­Poor woman! [He kisses her.]

Wife.—­Well, but let me know what it is; come, don’t distract yourself alone; let me bear a share of your grief, as well as I have shared in your joy.

Husb.—­My dear, let me alone, you trouble me now, indeed.

[Still he keeps her off.]

Wife.—­Then you will not trust your wife with knowing what touches you so sensibly?

Husb.—­I tell you, it is nothing, it is a trifle, it is not worth talking of.

Wife.—­Don’t put me off with such stuff as that; I tell you, it is not for nothing that you have been so concerned, and that so long too; I have seen it plain enough; why, you have drooped upon it for this fortnight past, and above.

Husb.—­Ay, this twelvemonth, and more.

Wife.—­Very well, and yet it is nothing.

Husb.—­It is nothing that you can help me in.

Wife.—­Well, but how do you know that?  Let me see, and judge whether I can, or no.

Husb.—­I tell you, you cannot.

Wife.—­Sure it is some terrible thing then.  Why must not I know it?  What! are you going to break?  Come, tell me the worst of it.

Husb.—­Break! no, no, I hope not—­Break! no, I’ll never break.

Wife.—­As good as you have broke; don’t presume; no man in trade can say he won’t break.

Husb.—­Yes, yes; I can say I won’t break.

Wife.—­I am glad to hear it; I hope you have a knack, then, beyond other tradesmen.

Husb.—­No, I have not neither; any man may say so as well as I; and no man need break, if he will act the part of an honest man.