“You remember, Bobbie,” soothed the girl, “what Lafe said about God’s angels, don’t you?”
The yellow head bent forward in assent.
“And how they’re stronger’n a whole bunch of men?”
“Yes,” breathed Bobbie; “but the chair—the men’ve got that, an’ mebbe the angels’ll be busy when they’re puttin’ the cobbler in it.”
This idea made him shriek out louder than before: “They’ll kill Lafe! Oh, Jinnie, they will!”
“They can’t!” denied Jinnie, rigidly. “They can’t! Listen, Bobbie.”
The wan, unsmiling blind face brought the girl’s lips hard upon it.
“I want to know all about the death chair,” he whimpered stubbornly.
“Bobbie,” she breathed, “will you believe me if I tell you about it?”
“Yes,” promised Bobbie, snuggling nearer.