"Ach, yes, my granny used to plant her garden by the signs in the almanac. Cabbage, now, must be planted in the up-sign. But mebbe you're hungry after your drive? I'll get some cake."
"We had lunch——"
"Ach, if your man's like mine he can eat cake any time." She opened a door that led to the cellar and soon returned with a plate piled high with cake. "Now eat," she invited. "But, ach, I just thought of it—you said you come from Greenwald—then I guess you know about Caleb Warner dying, killing himself, or something."
"Caleb Warner dying!" David echoed. He half started from his chair, then sank with a visible effort at self-control.
"Yes. I guess you know him. My mister was in to dinner a while ago and he said it went over the 'phone at Risser's and Jacob Risser told him that Caleb Warner of Greenwald was dead. It was from gas or something funny like that. It's the Warner that sold that oil stock and gold stock. You know him?"
David nodded, his lips dry.
"Well, I guess now a lot of people will lose money. There's a lady lives near here that gave him almost all her money for some of his stock. For a while she got big interest from it, but then it stopped and now she ain't got hardly enough money to live. And I guess a lot will lose money. My mister had no time for that stock. But if the man's dead now we should let him rest, I guess."
"Yes——" David braced himself. "The rain is over. Phœbe, we must go."
He smiled to the little woman as he gripped her hand. "You have been very kind to us and we appreciate it."
"Yes, indeed," echoed Phœbe. "I hope we have not kept you from your work."