Whose Cold Feet?

"Are you troubled with cold feet on retiring?" asked Yeast of Crimsonbeak, Saturday night, as they were returning from market freighted with provender.

"I should say I was!" replied Crimsonbeak emphatically, while a regular chills-and-fever shudder was seen to distribute itself over his frame at the recollection which the question recalled.

"I suppose you would like to learn how to avoid them?" replied the philanthropist, smiling at the thought of an opportunity to fire off one of his pet theories.

"I would give almost anything to be fortunate enough to escape them," said the despairing Crimsonbeak, in all truthfulness.

"Well it is easy enough done," went on his companion; "soak your feet in cold water the first thing when you get up in the morning; towards night run about three-quarters of a mile, and then soak your feet again in cold water on retiring."

"Well, I can't see how that is going to keep her feet from troubling me."

"Her cold feet from troubling you!" repeated Yeast, a little confused. "What do you mean?"

"Mean? Why, I mean that my wife's cold feet are the ones that chill me with an Arctic region touch. Whose feet did you suppose I meant, my mother-in-law's?" shouted the excited Crimsonbeak, darting into his gate and leaving his neighbor to his own reflections.