Eustace laid down the washer and answered stiffly, "No."
"Well, you needn't act so sanctimoniously about it," said the rooster with a leer. "You may fool your wife with your righteous air, but you can't gull me!" He gave Eustace a sly dig in the wishbone.
"Clarence," said the other with dignity, "there are some things which, I fear, we shall never regard in the same light."
The rooster burst into a jeering gurgle, flapping his wings with merriment. "Oh, I forgot,—you're one of those single standard cranks. Well, no wonder you're henpecked!" Just then he caught sight of the nest. "Been sitting on the eggs, like a well-trained husband?"
"No. Certainly not!" stammered Eustace, overcome with mortification.
Clarence, not to be hoodwinked with such a feeble denial, only chortled the more scoffingly. He would have continued his gibes but for the sudden appearance of the blonde pullet. "Ah, there she is!" he exclaimed abruptly, and strutted off after her.
The frame of mind in which Eustace now found himself was not a pleasant one. "I suppose the old scoundrel will tell everybody he caught me sitting on the eggs!" he reflected. "And how those gossipy Guinea fowls will carry on when they hear it!" He picked up the washer again and chewed it malevolently—nyap, nyap, nyap, nyap—ulp!—out it flipped. Oh, what was the use of anything anyhow? Casting one look at the eggs that had been the innocent authors of his undoing, he waddled sadly away and buried his dejected head in the depths of the frog-pond.
When, several hours later, he returned home, he found Gertrude already there. She was in the best of spirits. "What do you think," she said breathlessly, "my theories are working out!"
But he hardly heard her. He was staring blankly at the nest. It was empty. The beautiful white eggs were gone.
"What have you done with our poor unhatched children?" he gasped.