“As bad as what?” said Albert. “You don’t mean me, do you, Miss Stokes?”
“No,” she cried. “I don’t mean you.”
Joe’s face became dark red during these sallies, but he said nothing. He would eye the young woman curiously, as she swung so easily at the work, and he had some of the look of a dog which is going to bite.
Albert, with his nerves on edge, began to find the strain rather severe. The next Saturday evening, when Joe came in more black-browed than ever, he watched him, determined to have it out with him.
When the boy went upstairs to bed, the corporal followed him. He closed the door behind him carefully, sat on the bed and watched the younger man undressing. And for once he spoke in a natural voice, neither chaffing nor commanding.
“What’s gone wrong, boy?”
Joe stopped a moment as if he had been shot. Then he went on unwinding his puttees, and did not answer or look up.
“You can hear, can’t you?” said Albert, nettled.
“Yes, I can hear,” said Joe, stooping over his puttees till his face was purple.
“Then why don’t you answer?”