"Ye beat her up well, didn't ye, Lem? And she telled Mammy that yer brat were drowned one night in the river. Were it, Lem?"
There was an expectant pause between his first and last questions, and Lem waited almost as long before he grunted:
"Yep."
"Did ye throw it in when ye was drunk?"
"Nope, he jest fell in—that's all."
"I guess that last beatin' ye give Scraggy made her batty. Mam says that she ain't no more sense than her cat."
"Let her keep to hum then, and she won't get beat. I don't do no runnin' after her!"
Again there came a space of time during which Eli and Lem worked in silence. From far away in the city there came the sound of the fire whistle, followed by the ringing of bells. But not one of the men ceased his clipping to satisfy any curiosity he might have had.
Suddenly Lem Crabbe spoke louder than he had before that evening.
"Women ain't no good, nohow! They don't love no men, and men don't love them. What's the good of havin' 'em round to feed and to bother a feller 'bout drinkin' an' things? Less a man sees of 'em the better!"