"You start somethin' and you'll be sorry." Lutz's tone was threatening.
"I'm naturally truthful; I aims to stick strictly to facts if I does talk."
"Facts don't cut any ice in a libel suit," replied the undertaker significantly.
Libel suit! That sounded like the law and the grave-digger had a poor man's fear of the law. There was less assurance in his voice when he asserted—
"No man don't own me."
"I don't want to see you get in trouble, Lem, and I'm tellin' you for your own good that you better keep your trap shut on this. Who'd believe you if you'd tell any such story? You couldn't prove anything with the mayor and town officer against you if it was anything likely to get out and hurt the town. Who of Lamb and Harpe's friends that see them pikin' off to church every Sunday, singin' their sa'ms and the first at the altar of a Communion Sunday, who, I say, would believe us if we'd tell what we knew about that hospital and the whole lot more that we suspect? They could bluff you out because you haven't got the money it would take to prove you're right. Come back here and behave yourself and I'll try and get you that $10."
"If I wasn't a family man——" mumbled the grave-digger.
"But you are, and it's no use bein' squeamish over somethin' that's none of your business. This is your bread and butter."
It was the argument which has tied men's tongues since the world began and it never grows less effective. The shovel dropped from the grave-digger's shoulder.
"Hop in here and help me roll him back."