“What he was runnin’ away from—what had got holt of him before he run—nobody knows. Nobody but Jake, an’ he can’t tell.”
And last night another man had bolted from the same house, from the same room—whither?—why? Douglas felt a slight chill. With a sharp shake of the shoulders he lifted his head and right-faced. Out to the silent clearing he tramped, and straight up the road.
On his way to the Oaks place he met nobody. The only tracks not blurred by rain on the sand were his own, made that morning. Entering the yard of Nigger Nat, he slowed down, sharply scanning the windows. No face showed there.
“Hey! Hullo!” he called.
After a pause the door opened. Marion’s head came out.
“Hullo yourself! What you want? Seen pop anywheres?”
“No. He hasn’t come home yet?”
“If he had I wouldn’t be askin’, would I?”
“Probably not. Well, I wonder if I can borrow his corn-hook awhile.”
“Corn-hook? Why—yes, I guess so. He wouldn’t like it much, but—— Mom, Mister Hampton wants pop’s corn-hook awhile. All right? Wait a minute and I’ll git it.”