“No, sir. She got ’nough to fret her a’ready, Miss Hetty has. I’m ’fraid for her ’bout the man. She aint ’fraid o’ nothin’. ‘You do what I tell you, Homer,’ sez she, ‘an’ I’ll stan’ between you an’ harm,’ she say. But she aint know ’bout the devil. Nor I aint heerd o’ the murder when she tell me that. That mought make a dif’rence.”
“She is all right, all the same. She is always right. Mind her, and you’re sure to be safe. When did you last see this man who is so well acquainted with the devil?”
An uneasy pause, during which Homer cracked each one of the knuckle-joints in his left hand.
“I dunno! I don’ jis reklec’! You won’t mention him to Miss Hetty—nor to nobody—will you please not, Mr. Gilchris’? He’s an orful man! He’d get even with Miss Hetty, some way, sure’s you born, Mr. Gilchris’? ‘Nurver you let on a word to her!’ sez he to me—‘or ’twill be the wustest day she ever see,’ he sez.”
“Why, this is outrageous!” ejaculated the aroused listener. “Do you suppose I will allow this sort of thing to go on? I insist upon knowing who the wretch is! He’ll find himself behind bars before he is a day older, if I get hold of him.”
“Now”—resumed Homer, dazed and dull—“you’d better not meddle nor make with him. Me’n’ Miss Hetty, we could manage ’bout him, but when he sot ’bout fetchin’ the devil in—that aint a fa’r shake—that aint! I’ll say that much, ef I die fer it—’taint by no means ‘fa’r nor squar’!”
“Pshaw!” March laughed in vexed amusement. “Did you ever know the devil to do the fair and square thing? Or any of the devil’s men? Why didn’t you set Mr. Wayt after your friend? It’s his trade to fight Old Nick, you know.”
“Yes, sir. So I been heerd tell. What’s that?”
It was the sound of the gate-latch falling into the socket, and firm quick footsteps.
“O Lord!” whispered Homer again. “Don’t let on as I’ve been here!”