On the Sunday morning one or two little things had happened to put me out. At breakfast I had occasion to say that the eggs were stone-cold, and Eliza contradicted me. It was very absurd of her. As I pointed out to her, what earthly motive could I have for saying that an egg was cold if it was not? What should I gain by it? Of course she had no answer—that is, no reasonable answer. Then after breakfast I broke my boot-lace in two places. No, I was not angry. I hope I can keep my temper as well as most men. But I was in a state of mind bordering on the irritable.
Eliza came down-stairs, dressed for going out, asked me why I was not ready, and said we should miss the 9.43.
"Indeed!" said I. "And what, precisely, might you mean by the 9.43?"
"I mean, precisely, the train which leaves here for the city at seventeen minutes to ten."
"One of your usual mistakes," I replied. "The train is 9.53, and not 9.43."
"Have you a time-table?" she asked.
"No."
"Because if you had a time-table I could show you that you are wrong. Why, I know it's the 9.43."
"If I had a time-table I could show you most certainly that it is the 9.53. Not that you'd believe it, even then. You're too obstinate, Eliza—too certain of yourself!"