"You don't say!" said Calvin placidly. "Well, good looks is pleasant, I always maintain; I'd full rather have a woman good-lookin' if other things is 'cordin' to. I suppose likely she's a poor cook? A man has to have his victuals, you know!"
"She's the best cook in the State!" said the young man doggedly. "I'd back her riz bread or doughnuts or pies against any woman's from Portland to 'Roostick."
"Quite a ways," said Calvin. "S'pose likely she's slack, hey? house cluttered up? calicker wrapper and shoes down at the heel? that kind?"
The blue eyes flared at him. "I don't want none o' this kind o' talk!" he said sharply. "Slack! I'd sooner eat off Katie's kitchen floor than any other woman's parlor table that ever I see. You find me a speck o' dust or a spot o' dirt round our house and I'll find you a blue hen."
"I see!" said Calvin. "Another fellow, is there?"
"No!" shouted the young man, and he turned savagely on Calvin. "I'd like to know why you're sayin' this kind of thing, when you never see nor heard of me nor my wife before."
"Well!" said Calvin comfortably. "I've been wonderin' ever since you got in whether you was an ill-used man or a darned fool, and now I've found out. Why, you loony, if you've got a wife like all that, why in Tunkett are you goin' to get a bill?"
His voice rang out like a ship's trumpet. The lad shrunk down in his seat, and his face grew dogged and set.
"We was mismated, I tell you!" he said. "She's got a temper!"
"Well, how about you?" asked Calvin. "You ain't got that red hair for nothin', son."