“How old do you suppose he really is?”
“Twenty-five. Don't you think so?”
“I doubt it, Gay. He may be. It is hard to judge. He's queer. I don't like him. He is queer sometimes. He—”
“Sh!” said Gay, indicating Lem, who was listening with all his ears.
“I forgot. You're such a quiet little boy,” she said to Lem. “Are you a little pitcher with big ears?”
“Yes'm,” said Lem. “I guess so.”
“What I meant,” said Lorna to Gay, “was L-i-q-u-o-r. Have you suspected it?”
“Ellicker,” said Lem. “What's that mean?”
“Hush!” said Lorna. “He's coming in.” Freeman Todder, the young man of whom they were speaking, climbed the terrace steps slowly. He carried a cane, which was an unusual bit of dandyism in Riverbank, and he was what Miss Redding called “dressy.” Very few young fellows in Riverbank were “dressy” and almost none of the older men. Trousers seldom or never were creased on week days, for the “Sunday suit” held sway on the Sabbath and at parties and dances. To be well dressed on a week day was almost a sign of ungodliness, because the few who were well dressed were certainly apt to be ungodly. They were thought to be interested in poker, woman, and wine.
Freeman Todder, when he arrived in Riverbank, had almost immediately affiliated himself with the dozen “dressy” young fellows. He was seen in Alberson's drug store, in the Smokeorium, in front of Weltschaffel's clothing store, and wherever the young bucks gathered. It was said that his first labors in Riverbank were in the nature of holding a handful of playing cards in Alberson's back room, in company with a number of other young fellows, and it was some time before he had found a job. The job he found was serving soda water in Alberson's store. In the winter, when the soda trade was slack, he was behind Alberson's cigar counter.