And I made for the door. If there's one thing I hate more than another it's spiders. If it had been a roaring mountain lion or a stealthy Apache or even a snake, I would not have cared, but a spider! that was my particular horror.
It's peculiar about folks; each one has some particular aversion that is natural and not unreasonable. I have known people that would have a fit if you threw a cat at them. Actually faint with horror if a cat should jump in their laps. Others have the same feeling towards snakes. My horror was spiders.
I think if that one should crawl up my arm I Would almost expire with horror. That was the reason I took to the door. This fellow was no ordinary customer, I can assure you.
His hairy, bent legs carried his body in the center and he had poisonous nippers and wicked little eyes. He rattled across the hard floor straight for Jim. My cry caused Jim to look down and he jumped to one side just in time to escape the rush of the reptile.
I expected to see the spider scurry away to a dark corner. Not he, for he came for Jim again. Then Jim picked up a stone and crushed Mr. Spider with a crunching sound.
"Come and have a look at him, Jo," cried Jim. "He's a beaut."
"I'll take your word for it," I replied. "I don't want to see it."
"Did you ever see a spider like that?" asked Tom, when Jim came out.
"That wasn't a spider," Jim said. "That was a tarantula. He must have been five inches across. But the gall of him prancing right up to me."
"Lucky he didn't bite you," I said.