“I wish you’d learn to control that fee, fi, fo, fum business!” she scolded. “You scared the cook so badly with it this morning that she gave notice, and here I’ve had to cook the dinner. It may have been all right back in Cornwall several hundred years ago, but it doesn’t go here.”
“Well, I’m sure,” said the Giant, “I didn’t mean anything. I do smell the blood of some one.”
“It’s that plumber upstairs,” she said. “Come in and eat your dinner.”
“Plumber?” said the Giant, and followed her into the dining-room.
They shut the door, but the Giant’s roar was so loud that Wendell could still hear his part of the conversation, like one end of a telephone talk.
“Where is the leak?”
. . . . . . . . . .
“How did you know there was one, then?”
. . . . . . . . . .
“No, I didn’t. No such thing.”