My resentment, though I tried to keep it under control, was mounting
higher.
"Oh! did he?" I said; "I should have thought he might have found
something better to do with them."
"What?" she asked.
"Oh! well, many things," I retorted. "He might have filled them
again with beer."
My hostess looked at me astonished. I felt some reason for my tone
was expected.
"You see," I explained, "it is not a well-made chair. These rockers
are too short, and they are too curved, and one of them, if you
notice, is higher than the other and of a smaller radius; the back
is at too obtuse an angle. When it is occupied the centre of
gravity becomes--"
My hostess interrupted me.
"You have been sitting on it," she said.
"Not for long," I assured her.
Her tone changed. She became apologetic.
"I am so sorry," she said. "It looks all right."
"It does," I agreed; "that is where the dear lad's cleverness
displays itself. Its appearance disarms suspicion. With judgment
that chair might be made to serve a really useful purpose. There
are mutual acquaintances of ours--I mention no names, you will know
them--pompous, self-satisfied, superior persons who would be
improved by that chair.
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