The Blue Glass Delusion

What on earth is all that, Henry? My dear, that's blue glass, observed Mr. Archibald, the best medicinal marine blue glass. What's it for? and the old woman showed a disposition to turn her nose up. Why, Martha, haven't you heard of General Pleasanton, how he cures gout, and colds, and apoplexy, and raises cucumbers and cattle generally with blue glass? Old woman, you're a thick female, and I'll learn you some sense. I'll put blue glass in the kitchen window, and you'll find we won't use up so much flour and potatoes, and the coal will last longer, and the girl won't feed the policeman mince pie while you're gone to revival meeting. But Henry went on his way rejoicing, and soon had an extra pane of blue glass over each white one. The effect was rather nice, and if Mrs. Archibald always did like blue, it had a very soothing effect on her temper. The kitchen was as blue as the political atmosphere at Washington. While old Henry was busy, young Henry had not been idle. He knew the old man liked things blue, so he put washing blue in every tea pitcher in the house. A return home made a frightful disclosure. Mrs. Archibald was twisting one hand in her sky-blue hair, while tears of blue rolled down her marine cheek. Henry Archibald, you miserable ultramarine lunatic, come here and look upon this scene of azure desolation. It's the blue glass taking effect, my dear. You miserable indigo lunatic, you've turned the wife of your bosom, the daughter of your heart, the very dog by your fireside, and now your own miserable red nose, blue. And now you just go out quick and die somewhere before I commit blue and bloody murder with this club.