“Yes,” she replied, still allowing her anger to give rein to her tongue. “Smiley-face, the thief and poacher. He loves you dearly: he nearly knifed Ted Barnes the other day for saying what he thought of you. I congratulate you on your champion!”
“Now, what have I done to Ted Barnes?” Jim asked. Ted was the postman.
“That wretched little Dachs of yours bit him,” she replied, “and you didn’t so much as inquire.”
“It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” said Jim. “And, anyway, it’s my wife’s dog, not mine.”
“Oh, blame it on to your wife,” she sniffed. “It seems to me that the poor dear soul has to take the blame for everything. It’s very unfair on her.”
This was staggering, and Jim stared at her with mingled anger and astonishment in his dark eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, we can all guess what she suffers,” she said. “Only last week she nearly cried in my house.... Oh, you needn’t think she gave away any secrets, the poor little angel. She said herself ‘a wife must make no complaints.’ She’s the soul of loyalty. But we’re not blind, Mr. West.”
Jim scratched his head. “And all this because I nearly collided with your bicycle!” he mused.
Mrs. Spooner pulled herself together. “It’s the last straw that breaks the camel’s back,” she growled. “But I suppose I’m putting my foot into it as usual. I’ll say no more.” And therewith she mounted her bicycle and rode off with her nose in the air. Had she possessed a tail it would have appeared as an excited stump, sticking out from behind the saddle, and vibrating with the thrill of battle.