“By the way, you didn’t happen to see my glove?” she said.
“Your glove?” he repeated. Why, indeed, should he fetch and carry for her? Let her be punished for her negligence. He moved towards his box.
“Oh, well—I suppose it’ll be there on Friday,” she said. “I’m the only person who ever goes that cut.”
“Drumsticks aren’t the only things that are dropped,” he observed maliciously.
“No,” she agreed simply. She did not even seem to remember how she had trounced “that fool of a man.” No sense of humour in the sex, he reflected again.
“Do hold the brute!” he cried, for Nip was again showing his teeth in defence of the box.
“If you kept off a bull, you don’t need protection against a terrier,” she replied, and to his further amazement there was a note of admiration in her voice.
“The weaker the thing the harder it is to fight,” he rejoined significantly. He had his back now to the cart, and he hoisted his trunk upon it.
“You’re not going to carry it?” There was incredulity in her voice, for it was a box that looked nearly as long as himself.
“Who else?” He shifted the box to his right shoulder, which he had padded with his coat.