“I ain’t told you yet who the other feller is,” suggested the Captain.
“I don’t care if he’s an angel from heaven. I’d think you’d be ashamed of yourself to come here and speak of such a thing.”
“But I ain’t ashamed, Clemmie. A drowning man is willing to grab the first straw he sees. Listen to me, Clemmie,” he pleaded, as she turned to leave the room.
“Me listen to you proposing for me to come over to Little River and start talk that would ruin the town? Not if I know what Clemmie Pipkin’s doing.”
“I tell you I ain’t proposing to you, I’m just asking you. As far as that town goes, a few things more for it to talk about can’t do her no harm.”
Miss Pipkin paused on the threshold to give a parting shot, but the Captain spoke first and spiked her guns.
“The other feller happens to be the new parson.”
Her expression changed. Preachers had long been her specialty at the Poor Farm, and she knew exactly the care and food they needed.
“What was that you said, Josiah?”