“Aunt Nancy won’t hear of my going over to the Turrentines’,” hesitated Creed. “I looked for them to be here—some of them—long before this.”
“Huh-uh; ah, Law, no—they won’t come in the daytime,” smiled Kittridge.
Creed looked annoyed.
“They will be welcome, whenever they come,” he asserted. “What I want you to do is to go to Jephthah Turrentine and say to him that I thought I ought to go over, and that I’ll do so now if he wants me to—or I’ll meet him here at the office, or anywhere he says.”
“Huh-uh—uh!” Old Tubal shook his head, his eyes closed in quite an ecstasy of negation. “You cain’t git Jep Turrentine in the trap as easy as all that,” he said half contemptuously. “Why, he’d know what you was at a leetle too quick.”
Bonbright looked helpless indignation for a moment, then thought better of it and repeated:
“I want you to go and tell him that I’m right here, ready to answer for anything I’ve done, and that I would like to talk to him about it. Will you do it?”
“Oh,—all right,” agreed Kittridge in an offended tone. “There’s plenty would stand by ye; there’s plenty that would like to see the Turrentines run out of the country; but if ye want to fix it some new-fangled way I reckon you’ll have to.” And to himself he muttered as he took the road homeward, “I say go to the Turrentines with sech word at that! That boy must think I’m as big a fool as he is.”
At the Turrentine home life dragged on strangely. Jephthah in his own cabin, busied himself overhauling some harness. The boys had been across at the old place, presumably making a thorough inspection of the scene of the trouble. Judith went mechanically about her tasks, cooking and serving the meals, setting the house in order. Only once did she rouse somewhat, and that was when Huldah Spiller flounced in and flung herself tempestuously down in a chair.