“Because, Teddy, she was too perfect to be in her right mind.”
And Thaddeus, after thinking it all over, was inclined to believe that Bessie was in the right.
“Yes, Bess, she was perfect—perfect in the way she did her work, perfect in the way she smashed things, and nowhere did she more successfully show the thoroughness with which she did everything than when it came to removing the buttons from my vest. Isn’t it too bad that the only perfect servant that ever lived should turn out to be a hopeless maniac? But I must hurry off, or I’ll miss my train.”
“You are not going down to town to-day?” asked Bessie.
“To-day, above all other days, am I going down,” returned Thaddeus. “I am enough of a barbarian to be unwilling to lose the chance of seeing Bradley, and asking him how he and his jewel get along.”
“Thaddeus!”
“Why not, my dear?”
“It would be too mean for anything.”
“Well, perhaps you are right. I guess I won’t. But he has rubbed it into me so much about our domestics that I hate to lose the chance to hit back.”
“Has he?” said Bessie, her face flushing indignantly, and, it may be added, becomingly. “In that case, perhaps, you might—ha! ha!—perhaps you might telegraph and ask him.”