“Do you know why she's got these men to come here to-day to meet her—Warren Smith and Landis and Homer, and Boswell and young Keating of Amo, and Tom Martin and those two fellows from Gaines County?”
“Something about politics, isn't it?”
“'Something about politics!'” he echoed. “I should say it is! Wait till it's done, and this evening I'll tell you—if you can keep a secret.”
Minnie set her work-basket on the steps. “Oh, I guess I can keep a secret,” she said. “But it won't make any difference.”
“You mean you've said it, and you'll stick to it that it's gratitude till their wedding day.”
“She knows he gave her father something to do, and helped him in other ways, when no one else did.”
“I know all about that. She reproaches herself for having neglected Fisbee while a stranger took care of him, and saved him from starving—and worse. She's unreasonable about it; she didn't know he was in want till long after. That's just like Fisbee, to tell her, afterwards. He didn't tell her how low he got; but he hinted at it to her, and I guess she understood; I gathered that much from him. Of course she's grateful, but gratefulness don't account for everything.”
“Yes it does.”
“Well, I never expected to have the last word with a woman.”
“Well, you needn't,” said Minnie.