His wife made no reply, but sat gazing in a hostile fashion at the bold, dark eyes and stylish hat of the visitor.
“I should like to be strong,” said the latter, smiling agreeably over at Mr. Jobling.
“When I was younger,” said that gratified man, “I can assure you I didn't know my own strength, as the saying is. I used to hurt people just in play like, without knowing it. I used to have a hug like a bear.”
“Fancy being hugged like that!” said the girl. “How awful!” she added, hastily, as she caught the eye of the speechless Mrs. Jobling.
“Like a bear,” repeated Mr. Jobling, highly pleased at the impression he had made. “I'm pretty strong now; there ain't many as I'm afraid of.”
He bent his arm and thoughtfully felt his biceps, and Mrs. Jobling almost persuaded herself that she must be dreaming, as she saw the girl lean forward and pinch Mr. Jobling's arm. Mr. Jobling was surprised too, but he had the presence of mind to bend the other.
“Enormous!” said the girl, “and as hard as iron. What a prize-fighter you'd have made!”
“He don't want to do no prize-fighting,” said Mrs. Jobling, recovering her speech; “he's a respectable married man.”
Mr. Jobling shook his head over lost opportunities. “I'm too old,” he remarked.
“He's forty-seven,” said his wife.