At that Mrs. Pipkin, who had a keen ear and a sharp temper, flared up.
“Mr. Pipkin!”
“What, Mis’ Pipkin?”—meekly.
“You’ve worked long enough on that whiplash. He’s making fun of ye; and that’s all the thanks you’ll ever get for helping him. Take hold here and pare these apples while I slice ’em up.”
“In a minute. I can’t le’ go here jes’ now,” said Mr. Pipkin.
Whereupon Mrs. Pipkin laid down her knife and the apple she was paring, and looked at her husband over the rim of the pan in perfect astonishment.
“Mr. Pipkin! did you hear my request?”
“Yes, I heerd ye, but—”
“Mr. Pipkin,” interrupted Mrs. Pipkin, severely, “will you have the kindness to pare these apples? I don’t wish to be obliged to speak again!”
“What’s the apples fer,—sass?” said Mr. Pipkin, mildly.