"I'm better without her," he said to his confederate, Mike. "She's always a-whinin' and complainin', Nance¹ is. It makes me sick to see her. If I speak a rough word to her, and it stands to reason a chap can't always be soft-spoken, she begins to cry. I like to see a woman have some spirit, I do."

 

"They may have too much," said Mike, shrugging his shoulders. "My missus ain't much like yours. She don't cry, she don't. If I speak rough to her, she ups with something and flings it at my head. That's her style."

 

"And what do you do?" asked Bill, in some curiosity.

 

"Oh, I just leave her to get over it; that's the best way."

 

"Is it?" said Bill, grimly. "Why, you're not half[Pg 176] a man, you ain't. Do you want to know what I'd do if a woman raised her hand against me?"

 

"Well, what would you do?"

 

"I'd beat her till she couldn't see!" said Bill, fiercely; and he looked as if he was quite capable of it.

 

"I don't know," said Mike. "You haven't got a wife like mine."

 

"I just wish I had. I'd tame her."

 

"She ain't easy to tame."

 

"Just you take me round there some time, Mike. If she has a tantrum, turn her over to me."

 

Mike did not answer. He was not as great a ruffian as Bill, and the proposal did not strike him favorably.

 

His wife was certainly a virago², and though strong above the average, he was her superior in physical strength, but something hindered him from using it to subdue³ her. So he was often overmatched by the shrill-voiced vixen, who knew very well that he would not proceed to extremities⁴. Had she been Bill's wife, she would have had to yield, or there would have been bloodshed.

 

"I say, Bill," said Mike, suddenly, "how much did your wife hear of our plans last night?"

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