Cheap Jack Zita

by S. Baring-Gould

'That is not all,' continued Kainie. 'When I did not prove eager for the paper, she made another bid.'

'And that—?'

'Was a garden syringe to kill green-fly with soapy water.'

Zita heard both laugh merrily.

'I have not done yet,' continued Kainie. 'She finally produced her most splendid offer.'

'And that was—?'

'It was one that almost made me surrender you, Mark. A box of all kinds of scents. And she said'—Kainie could hardly speak for laughing—'I should smell of Jockey Club in chapel—tremenjous—that's her word—tremenjous!'

Zita's anger was flaming hot, waves of boiling blood swept through her veins, swept before her eyes and blinded her.

Gasping for breath, she rushed up the bank, and, reaching them, struck Kainie on the cheek with her open palm before she or Mark knew she was there.