“Do it?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
“Can he give you your walkin' papers at that bank? Oh, I heard him! I tried not to, but he hollered so I couldn't help it. That kitchen door ain't much thicker'n a sheet of paper, anyhow. Can he do it?”
“I guess so. He seems to be boss of that institution.”
“But can't 'Lisha Warren or some of the other directors help you? Jed Dean don't boss 'Lisha Warren—not much.”
“I shan't ask for help. Please don't trouble me, Dorinda.”
I tried to pass her, but she would not permit it.
“I shan't trouble you, Ros,” she said. “I guess you've got troubles enough without me. But you let me ask you this: Are you goin' to let him drive you out of town?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “It may not take much driving,” I announced, listlessly, “if it were not for Mother I should be only too glad to go.”
Again I tried to pass, but this time she seized my arm.
“Roscoe Paine,” she cried, “don't you talk like that. I don't want to hear another word like that. Don't you let Jed Dean or nobody else drive you out of Denboro. You ain't done nothin' to be ashamed of, have you?”