"I didn't say it?" inquired Mr. Sharp.
"No," said Mr. Culpepper, still smiling in a wooden fashion.
"I mean the other thing?" said Mr. Sharp, in a thrilling whisper.
"Look here," exclaimed the overwrought Mr. Culpepper; "why not eat your pudding, and leave off talking nonsense? Nobody's listening to you."
"Speak for yourself," said his wife, tartly. "I like to hear Mr. Sharp talk. What was it he told you not to tell me?"
Mr. Sharp eyed her mistily. "I—I can't tell you," he said, slowly.
"Why not?" asked Mrs. Culpepper, coaxingly.
"Because it—it would make your hair stand on end," said the industrious Mr. Sharp.
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Culpepper, sharply.
"He said it would," said Mr. Sharp, indicating his host with his spoon, "and he ought—to know— Who's that kicking me under the table?"