But he knew she was. And he knew also that the bite was a trifle. If
it had been a good bite she would have made it enormous; she would
have hinted that the dog had left a chasm in the boy's flesh.

"Yes, you are," he continued to twit her, encouraged by her attempt at
a smile.

However, the smile expired.

"I suppose you won't deny that Carlo's teeth may have been dirty? He's
always nosing in some filth or other," she said challengingly, in a
measured tone of sagacity. "And there may be blood-poisoning."

"Blood fiddlesticks!" exclaimed Edward Henry.

Such a nonsensical and infantile rejoinder deserved no answer, and
it received none. Shortly afterwards Maud entered and whispered that
Nellie was wanted upstairs. As soon as his wife had gone Edward Henry
rang the bell.

"Maud," he said, "bring me the _Signal_ out of my left-hand overcoat
pocket."

And he defiantly finished his meal at leisure, with the news of the
day propped up against the flower-pot, which he had set before him
instead of the dish of ham.