The boy stared up and down the big man, slowly slooped up the moisture of his open mouth, and closed his lips apprehensively.
Mrs. Dunham was on the front porch of the neighbour’s house, defiantly awaiting their approach.
“Has that paper been served?” she demanded, when they were still some distance down the path.
The abandoned husband held up the fateful document, and was about to break into appealing speech, but she stamped her foot and checked him.
“Not a word—not a word from you!” she screamed fiercely. “It’s all over and done and the passel tied and the string cut between us. I’m here to stay till I git my bill and allowance by the court. I shall watch that house till I git my own out of it. Then you can go to pot and see the kittle bile, for all I care. Ain’t you ashamed to face me with the stigmy of that law paper on you?” She pointed at him as at something proscribed. Her hosts were at the window, listening with manifest enjoyment. The situation maddened Dunham.
“Talk to her, Squire! For pity sakes, talk to her,” he entreated, tears running down his sallow cheeks. “When she has twitted me before this I ain’t talked right to her, and I realise it all now. I’m awful sorry—I’m turrible, awful, desp’rit’ sorry I ever talked uppish to you, Esther,” he wailed. “I ain’t fell in love with any one else. I vow I ain’t. It’s diff’rent than that. I ain’t skercely realised how it was— but I reckon I know now. I’ve been thinkin’. I was jest—I was jest——”
“Oh, you was jest Mr. Pompous-on-Parade, all so fine and gay,” she sneered, “and now you think that one drop of goose grease is goin’ to cure all the smart and hurt. But I tell you now, as I’ve already told Squire Look, once my mind is made up it is set as the eternal hills. Now, can you get that through your wool?” she stormed, her eyes blazing.
“I know your disposition is inclined that way, Esther,” he faltered, lifting his eyes to her piteously.
“And you say there ain’t no way—no chance——”
“No, sir!” she spat.