"You——" Mrs. Hearty's reply was stifled in a sudden fit of coughing. She heaved and struggled for breath, while her face took on a deep purple hue.
Mrs. Bindle rose and proceeded to bestow a series of resounding smacks with the flat of her hand upon Mrs. Hearty's ample back. There was a heartiness in the blows that savoured of the Old rather than the New Testament.
Nearly five minutes elapsed before Mrs. Hearty was sufficiently recovered to explain that a crumb had gone the wrong way.
"Serves you right for encouraging that girl in her wickedness," was Mrs. Bindle's unsympathetic comment as she returned to her chair. Vaguely she saw in her sister's paroxysm, the rebuke of a frowning Providence.
"You wasn't always like wot you are now," complained Mrs. Hearty at length.
"I never dressed anything like that girl." There was a note of fierceness in Mrs. Bindle's voice, "and I defy you to say I did, Martha Hearty, so there."
"Didn't I 'ave to speak to you once about your stockings?" Mrs. Hearty's recent attack seemed to have rendered speech easier.
"No wonder you choke," snapped Mrs. Bindle angrily, "saying things like that."
"Didn't the boys shout after you 'yaller legs'?" she gasped, determined to get the full flavour out of the incident. "They wasn't worn coloured then."
"I wonder you aren't afraid of being struck dead," cried Mrs. Bindle furiously.