“Do you think so?” he remarked in a much more casual tone than he felt.
“It looked for a minute like a bad accident.”
“It looked to me like attempted murder,” retorted Phil.
Brenchfield frowned, but ignored the opening.
“She’s a vicious devil. She takes turns like that occasionally when a stranger is near her.”
“You mean you give her turns like that occasionally?” put in Phil suggestively.
At that moment, Jim Langford sauntered round the smithy building into the yard.
“Hullo! A love-feast going on! What’s the argument, fellows? What have you been doing to your cheek, Phil?”
The Mayor growled.
“This blacksmith pal of yours thought he could shoe Beelzebub. She’s got a mad streak on and pretty nearly laid him out. Now he blames me for rousing her, as if she needs any rousing.”