With so much puff and so much blow his mouth became a little " O," his chest grew round, his cheeks grew red until at last the neighbours said, " Is this a boy or a balloon ? " and Mrs. Wigg was seen to swoon.
The doctor said, " It is but folly to seek my aid in saving WALLY. No child could stand—it seems a shame— the strain upon its tender frame.
" I must prepare you for the worst—Your infant son is bound to burst! "

Poor Mr. Wigg with endless pluck bought lemons by the gross to suck, and he and Mrs. " W.," keeping young WALTER well in view, would flaunt the fruit before the child, drowning his native wood notes wild. But WALTER merely hurried past with unimpaired and scornful blast, while errand boys would watch the while, saying, " Can nothing cramp his style? "

Alas, my story nears its close—one breath too many through the nose, or possibly a trifle south ; one breath too many through the mouth (the details matter little now)— one breath too many, anyhow. A rending sound— a fearful snort—a smothered shriek—a loud report . . .

stretched on the rug with ghastly grin lay WALTER WIGGS'S empty skin.

And as she swept her son away, said Mrs. Wigg, though far from gay, "We'll have to use those lemons up, I'd better make some claret cup."

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