“But I can’t make Harry mind any more!”
The pitiful figure gave the Captain an uneasy feeling as he tried to return her pathetic gaze. He replied kindly:
“Eadie, you’ve always held a purty tight rein over that husband of yours, about the best I ever see drawn over a prancing colt. You’d best tighten up a mite on them reins, right sudden-like.”
“But I haven’t any power over him now. He’s that worked up that I can’t even talk to him. He shuts me right up.”
“What’s that? You can’t handle that little shrimp?”
She uttered a cry, and looked past the Captain, through the dining-room door, into the hall. The seaman turned in the direction of her wild and distracted gaze. Mr. Beaver, more wild and distracted than his spouse, stood in the door, the incarnation of burning passion and pent up fury.
“W-What are you d-doing in this m-man’s house?” he shouted, his shrill voice breaking into a ferocious shriek, as he blinked and pointed at his frightened wife.
Captain Pott was so surprised that he merely gaped at the infuriated little man.
“Harry, please don’t!” pleaded Mrs. Beaver, drawing back against the wainscoting.