But
Mr. Plaisted's thoughts were elsewhere; he was repeating to himself the
lines he had no power to forget, and when dinner was over he was almost a
mental wreck.
Dexie was exulting in his misery, and was longing to let him know she was
the author of it.
When they entered the parlor, Mr. Sherwood turned to Dexie, saying: "Give
us some music, Dexie; something to cheer us up and drive away the blues,"
and he nodded at Plaisted, who had thrown himself into a chair.
But seated at the piano, Dexie still kept up the torture of the dinner
table by selecting songs that suggested fishing, or fishermen's daughters,
until Plaisted rose and walked the floor in ill-concealed distress.
Feeling the crisis near at hand, she tried to think of something that would
"cap the climax," but as nothing occurred to her, she added a verse
impromptu to what she was singing:
"Oh! father dear, I've caught a fish; I'm sure it is a shad;
Pray help me take him off the hook; you see he's hurt so bad!"
This was too much for Plaisted. Taking a sudden turn he faced his
tormentor, but she heeded not his angry looks.
"I tell you what, Sherwood!" and he wheeled around angrily, "if I had a
daughter who would play such stuff as that, I'd--I'd smash the piano to
atoms!" and he brought his fist down on the table with a crash.
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