Bonnie Bell now, all at once, she taken to wanting to go on the lake with her boat, and she insists our chauffore and her and me must go down and fix up the boat. We didn't none of us like it especial, but she said she hadn't been on the lake for so long she wanted to go once more before it got too cold.
I didn't know nothing about boats, but sometimes I'd go down to the boathouse and watch Bonnie Bell while she was tinkering with the engine or something. One day I went down to the boathouse about the middle of the afternoon, expecting to meet her out on the dock. All at once I hear voices out there, one of them hers. I stopped then, wondering who could of got on our dock.
There wasn't no way from the Wisners' yard to get on our dock now, because the door into their boathouse had been nailed up. The wall run clear down to their garridge, and their garridge faced onto the boathouse, which was lower down. The only way anybody could get on our dock from their place was to get in a boat and come round from the lake. Then it would of been easy.
I said I heard Bonnie Bell's voice. She was talking; who she was talking to, I didn't know.
"It's all wrong!" says she. "You are presuming too much. Of course I pulled you out of the lake—I would anybody; but your employers are not friends of ours. Even if they were you've no right in the world to speak to me."
Then I heard another voice. I knew it was Jimmie, their hired man. He spoke out and I heard him plain.
"I know I haven't," says he, "none in the world; but I've got to."
"You must not!" says she. "Go away!"
"I'll not," says he. "I can't help it! I tell you I can't help it."
Me being foreman, I reached around now to get hold of a brick or something. I couldn't help hearing what they said.