"No," Howell said, "I wouldn't do that."
"Snead came to Greta's funeral. It's the least I could do."
"I wouldn't. Probably no relation to Snead at all. Somebody who looks like him."
"He's practically running," Linton said. "He almost ran out of the restaurant."
"Who? Oh, the man who looked like Snead, you mean."
"Yes," Linton said.
A thick-bodied man at the next table leaned his groaning chair back intimately against Linton's own chair.
"That fellow who just left looked like a friend of yours, huh?" the thick man said.
"Couldn't have been him, though," Linton answered automatically. "My friend's dead."
The thick man rocked forward and came down on all six feet. He threw paper money on the table as if he were disgusted with it. He plodded out of the place quickly.