"That's 'cause you don't know any better," came from the expert, who had returned to her task, the excited flourishes of her uplifted legs betraying its difficulties.
"You're a little fool!" declared the superintendent. "Do you know who I am? My name's Pemberton, and I—"
"Why don't you make your wife leave Crosby alone, then?" demanded Fom, without seeming much impressed.
Warren Pemberton looked down upon her little body with an expression that made Bep wonder why he refrained from stamping upon it.
"You don't think Mrs. Pemberton knows her business, either?" His ruddy, full face looked apoplectic.
"Nope. Sissy says if she was Crosby she'd run away to sea. And she's going to put him up to it, too, if—"
But Bep, frightened by the growing anger in the great man's face, interposed. "Shall I shut her up for you, Mr. Pemberton?" she asked.
"What—what d' ye say? I wish to God you would, or that somebody could!"
"Fom," said Bep, authoritatively, "shut up!"
Fom jumped to her feet. There was appeal, wrath, rebellion in her crimson face. She opened her lips as if to protest.