He whirled round and looked at me as if he thought I was crazy.
"Nice-appearin'!" he says. "Nice-ap—Why, she's—"
Then he pulled up short and headed for the back room.
Nothin' of much importance happened for a while after that. And yet there was somethin'—two or three somethin's—that had a bearin' on the case. One was the change in 'Dolph Cahoon. For a few days after that night I met him on the road he was as gay and chipper as a blackbird in a pear tree—happy even when I made him work, which was surprisin' enough. And then, all to once, he turned glum and ugly. Wouldn't speak and seemed to be broodin' over his troubles all day long. I had my suspicions; and so, one time when him and me was alone, I hove over a little mite of bait just to see if he'd rise to it.
"Seen anything of the Lentz girl lately?" I asked, casual.
"Naw," says he, "and I don't want to, neither! She's a bird, she is! Too stuck up to speak to common folks. Everybody's gettin' on to her—you bet! She won't make many friends in this town."
I grinned to myself. Thinks I: "I guess, young man, Georgianna's handed you your walkin' papers. You won't go down the Neck Road any more!"
And yet, an evenin' or so after that, I see somebody go down that road. I didn't see him plain, but I'd have almost taken my oath 'twas Jim Henry Jacobs. It couldn't be, of course—and yet—
Well, two days later, I took back the "yet." I happened to be standin' at the side door of the store, lookin' across the fields, when I saw an auto with two people in it sailin' along the crossroad from the east'ard. 'Twas a runabout auto—and I looked and looked! Then I called to 'Dolph.
"'Dolph," says I, "come here! Who's automobile's that? If I didn't know Mr. Jacobs was off takin' orders in Denboro I should say 'twas his."