“No doubt you are right, my dear,” chimed in her husband.
“It wasn’t that,” said Tom bluntly. “Eating never disagrees with me. It was the straw-bed.”
“The straw-bed!”
“Yes, it’s as hard as a brick-bat. It doesn’t agree with my spine.”
“Mr. Middleton and I sleep on a straw-bed,” said the lady.
“Perhaps you have a feather-bed, too,” suggested our hero.
As this happened to be true, the lady did not see fit to reply directly.
“I don’t believe the bed had anything to do with it,” she said snappishly, “and, moreover, I don’t want any torpedoes in the house.”
“My dear,” said her husband soothingly, “I am sure our young friend will not care to keep them. Doubtless it is a mere accident that he happened to have them.”
“It’s lucky they were not fire-crackers,” said Tom. “It might have set the bed on fire.”