"Yes." The answer was given in the same monotonous, listless voice—not a trace of indignation over the outrage. Women with suckling babies had no rights that anybody was bound to respect—not up in Pineyville; certainly not the gentlemen with brass shields under the lapels of their coats and Uncle Sam's commissions in their pockets. It was the law of the land—why find fault with it?
I leaned closer so that I could touch her hand if need be.
"What's your name?"
"Samanthy North."
"What's your husband's name?"
"His name's North." There was a trace of surprise now in the general monotone Then she added, as if to leave no doubt in my mind, "Leslie North."
"Where is he?" I determined now to round up every fact.
"He's home. We've got another child, and he's takin' care of it till I git back. He'd be to the railroad for me if he knowed I was coming; but I couldn't tell him when to start 'cause I didn't know how long they'd keep me."
"Is your home near the railroad?"
"No, it's thirty-six miles furder."