Reliance sniffed.
“Yes, I should say it was,” she observed, dryly, “if it was the way you put it. His wife’s niece, you mean, I suppose.”
“Well, it’s his wife’s nephew’s wife. That’s the same thing, ain’t it. He’s the one that married the girl from up to Middleboro. Simpson—or Simpkins—seems to me her name was, as I recollect. She—”
“Mil Clark, you put that postal in the box where it belongs. This mail is late enough already and I don’t want to stay out here in this office all night. If you would only mind your own business as well as you do everybody else’s you’d be the smartest man in this town, which—”
She did not finish the sentence. Mr. Clark regarded her suspiciously.
“Well, which what?” he demanded, after a momentary pause. “Which what? What was you goin’ to say?”
“Nothin’ in particular. Go to work and stop talkin’.”
“I know what you was goin’ to say. You’ve said it too many times afore. I’m gettin’ sick of havin’ it hove up to me, too. Just about sick of it, I am. A man can stand about so much and then he gets desperate. He don’t care what he does to himself. Some of these days you’ll be surprised, Reliance Clark—you and Esther and all the rest of ’em.”
His sister did not seem greatly alarmed.
“Um-hum,” she sniffed. “Well, just now you can surprise me by doin’ your share of this mail sortin’.... Oh, my soul and body!” she added, snatching the postal from his hand. “Either go to work or get out of my way, one or the other. Go out in the back room and sit down. You can sit down as well as anybody I ever saw.”