"You heard him!" I said, turning to Barjona. "Now listen! I will give you five pounds for that rose-bush."
"That—tree—will—bide—where—it—is," replied Barjona doggedly.
There was a movement in the crowd as a raging woman forced her way through. She was hatless, like the rest of us, but her arms were bare to the elbows. Until I noticed the tightly-coiled hair I did not recognise Barjona's wife, for the usually pleasant face was clouded in storm.
She strode up to her husband and seized him by the collar of his coat with both hands.
"You heartless rascal!" she hissed in his ears; "so this is your blessed secret 'at you've kept for a surprise, is it? I'll surprise ye, ye good-for-nowt old Jew. What do ye mean by it, eh?" She shook him as if he had been a lad of ten, and he was helpless in her grip.
"You leave me alone!" he threatened, but all the brag was gone from him.
"Leave—you—alone!" she hissed between her clenched teeth; "I wish to God I had; but I took ye for better or worse, an' it isn't goin' to be all worse, I can tell ye! I hearkened to ye while I could 'earken no longer. The Lord gi' me grace to keep my 'ands off o' ye!"
It was a remarkably futile prayer, seeing that she was holding him as in a vice, and shaking him at intervals.
"D'ye think I'd ever live 'ere, an' let a poor old man like Ted fend for hisself anywhere? What do ye take me for? Ye knew better than to tell me while ye'd gotten yer dirty work done, but thank the Lord I was just in time. 'Ere, get away! I'm stalled o' talkin' to ye!"
She pushed him away roughly, but he made one more sulky struggle for mastery.