Ever since the April day that Charles Smith had lain in the mud and looked up at Black Mayo Osborne’s mocking face, his heart had been full of hate. For a few weeks after the incident at the bridge, he had been cautious, perhaps a little fearful. But as time passed and Black Mayo kept silence, Mr. Smith grew contemptuously bold and missed no chance for slur and insinuation against the man he hated.
And slur and insinuation were not in vain. The community had always accepted Black Mayo’s roving habits without question, never surprised when he went away, welcoming him warmly when he turned up at home a week or a month or a year later. But now—not one of them could have said why—they were suspicious of those unknown weeks and months and years.
“And no one can question him or seek to know his goings, for he is an a-ris-to-crat.� Mr. Smith’s voice was silky.
Jake Andrews uttered an oath. “’Ristocrat! I’m sick and tired of this old ’ristocrat business. He ain’t no more’n any other man, for all his being a Mayo and a Osborne. I’m a law officer, and so’s my Cousin Bill at Redville. I’m going to look into things. Seems to me——�
“Easy, friend!� Mr. Smith chuckled and pulled at his fingers, making his knuckles snap in a way he had when he was pleased. “Those girls come.�
The girls were Anne and Patsy. Mrs. Osborne had asked them to carry a basket of food to Louviny, Lincum’s wife. He had said she had a “misery in her back� and was “mightly porely,� so she could not come to help about Mrs. Osborne’s house-cleaning.
Anne and Patsy gave casual glances and greetings to the group on the porch.
“Isn’t that Mr. Smith horrid?� said Patsy. “I despise a man like that—with a mouth that runs up on one cheek when he grins.�
“And I despise a man that’s so hateful about Cousin Mayo—laughing about his pigeons and saying things about his not being in the army.�
“Cousin Mayo used to speak so often of going; now he never says anything about it. He looks awfully worried.�