"You poor dear, did I abuse you?" said my wife. "But, do you know,
Mrs. Tabb said that _she_ didn't know how many lumps of sugar he took
in his coffee. Now that seems queer, doesn't it?"
It did. It was a small thing. But it looked queer, Very queer.
* * * * *
The next morning, it was clear that war was declared against the
Bredes. They came down to breakfast somewhat late, and, as soon as
they arrived, the Biggleses swooped up the last fragments that
remained on their plates, and made a stately march out of the
dining-room, Then Miss Hoogencamp arose and departed, leaving a whole
fish-ball on her plate. Even as Atalanta might have dropped an apple
behind her to tempt her pursuer to check his speed, so Miss Hoogencamp
left that fish-ball behind her, and between her maiden self and
contamination.
We had finished our breakfast, my wife and I, before the Bredes
appeared. We talked it over, and agreed that we were glad that we had
not been obliged to take sides upon such insufficient testimony.
After breakfast, it was the custom of the male half of the Jacobus
household to go around the corner of the building and smoke their
pipes and cigars where they would not annoy the ladies.
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