Again Twombley spat. Then, seeing his guest rising, he asked with great dignity:
“Going, young sir?”
“Yes, over to Mrs. Sniff’s. And if we are neighbours, Twombley, let us be friends. My father had a liking for you, I remember.”
“I’m not forgetting that, young sir.”
When Larry reached Mrs. Sniff’s, Jan-an was still riotously sweeping the memories of the funeral away. She turned and looked at Larry. Then, leaning on her broom, she continued to stare.
“Well, what in all possessed got yer down here?” asked the girl, her face stiffening.
“Where’s Mrs. Sniff?” Larry asked. He always resented Jan-an, on general principles. She got in his way too often. When she was out of sight he never thought of her, but her vacant stare and monotonous drawl were offensive to him.
He had once suggested that she be confined somewhere. 97 “You never can tell about her kind,” he had said; he had a superstitious fear of her.
“What, shut the poor child from her freedom?” Aunt Polly had asked him, “just because we cannot tell? Lordy! Larry Rivers, there wouldn’t be many people running around loose if we applied that rule to them.”
There were some turns that conversation took that sent Larry into sudden silences––this had been one. He had never referred to Jan-an’s treatment after that, but he always resented her.