Tom was reluctant. "I'm puttin' an edge on my axe," he replied.
"What for, Tom?"
Tom hesitated. "Well——" he drawled. And then, abruptly: "Nothin' much." He was both grieved and agitated.
"But what for?"
"I wants it good an' sharp."
"What you want it good an' sharp for?"
"An axe serves best," Tom evaded, "when 'tis sharp."
"Look you, Tom!" said Bob; "you're behavin' in a very queer way, an' I gives you warnin' o' the fac'. What happens? Here I comes quite unexpected on you by candle-light in the shed. Who is I? I'm His Majesty's Mail. Mark that, Tom! An' what does I find you doin'? Puttin' an edge on an axe. I asks you why you're puttin' an edge on your axe. An' you won't tell. If I didn't know you for a mild man, Tom, I'd fancy you was tired o' your wife."
"Tired o' my wife!" Tom exploded, indignantly. "I isn't goin' t' kill my wife!"
"Who is you goin' t' kill?"