JIM. Why, Kate—[Gumbo.] See here—how's this for an idea?
KATE. What did you mean—by this? [She extends letter.
JIM. Why, just that. I thought it looked like his writin',—same backhand, and no shadin' to it.
KATE. How could Mr. Travers have written it?
JIM. Why, no use gettin' mad, Kate. It kin look like his writin', can't it?
KATE. [Going to anvil and leaning on back of it.] You don't like him, Jim, do you?
JIM. [Picks up old horse-shoe.] Well—[Mechanically pounds gumbo with horse-shoe.
KATE. [Pause.] Not much—
JIM. No—not a great deal, Kate.
KATE. [Displaying the letter.] Do you think he's a bad enough man to have done this?