“I saw him once when I was a boy.”
“Any relation?”
“He married a cousin of my stepmother. What sort of a man is he?”
“He's a no-account man—shif'less, lazy—drinks.”
“That agrees with what I have heard. How about his wife?”
“She's smart enough. If he was like her they'd live comfortably. She has a hard time with him and Abner—Abner's her son, and just like his father, only doesn't drink yet. Like as not he will when he gets older.”
Willis Ford was not the only listener to this colloquy. Herbert paid attention to every word, and in the poor boy's mind there was the uncomfortable query, “Why are we going to these people?” He would know soon, probably, but he had a presentiment of trouble.
“Yes,” continued the station master, “Mrs. Barton has a hard row to hoe; but she's a match for Joel.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“She's got a temper of her own, and she can talk a man deaf, dumb, and blind. She gives Barton a piece of her mind whenever he comes home full.”