“But—but what does it MEAN?” begged Mrs. Snow. “Why—why should he want to see you, Zelotes? And the boy—why—why, that's HER boy. It's Janie's boy he must mean, Zelotes.”
Her husband nodded.
“Hers and that blasted furriner's,” he muttered. “I suppose so.”
“Oh, DON'T speak that way, Zelotes! Don't! He's dead.”
Captain Lote's lips tightened. “If he'd died twenty years ago 'twould have been better for all hands,” he growled.
“Janie's boy!” repeated Olive slowly. “Why—why, he must be a big boy now. Almost grown up.”
Her husband did not speak. He was pacing the floor, his hands in his pockets.
“And this man wants to see you about him,” said Olive. Then, after a moment, she added timidly: “Are you goin', Zelotes?”
“Goin'? Where?”
“To New York? To see this lawyer man?”