He smiled beguilingly, showing his long, tobacco-stained teeth.
“Ef nobody axes me.”
His countenance fell suddenly.
“Look-a-hyar, Lethe Sayles, don’t ye fool with me, a-doublin’ on yer words like a fox on his tracks,” he said roughly. Then, more temperately, “I’m afeard o’ that very thing,—ef somebody axes ye.”
“’Tain’t likely,” said Alethea.
“I dunno,” he insisted, wagging his big head in doubtful pantomime. “I want ye ter ’low ye won’t tell.”
“I don’t b’lieve in sech ez moonshinin’ an’ drinkin’ liquor.”
“What fur?” he demanded, with an air of being ready for argument.
“’Tain’t religion.”