“Oh yes, it was clever,” I replied, “I am willing to admit that.”
“He made it out of some old beer barrels,” she continued; she seemed proud of it.
My resentment, though I tried to keep it under control, was mounting higher.
“Oh! did he?” I said; “I should have thought he might have found something better to do with them.”
“What?” she asked.
“Oh! well, many things,” I retorted. “He might have filled them again with beer.”
My hostess looked at me astonished. I felt some reason for my tone was expected.
“You see,” I explained, “it is not a well-made chair. These rockers are too short, and they are too curved, and one of them, if you notice, is higher than the other and of a smaller radius; the back is at too obtuse an angle. When it is occupied the centre of gravity becomes—”
My hostess interrupted me.
“You have been sitting on it,” she said.