“You sure worked yourself all thin. I hope somebody appreciates it.” She chuckled. “Ain't been sick, have you?”
“Say, who d'you think's in town? Sheriff Glass!”
This information sank in on him while he tugged at a boot at least a size and half too small.
“Pete Glass!” he echoed. Then: “Who's he after?”
“I dunno. Vic, he don't look like such a bad one.”
“He's plenty bad enough,” Gregg assured her. “Ah-h-h!”
His foot ground into place, torturing his toes.
'“Well,” considered Mrs. Pym, in a philosophic rumble, “I s'pose them quiet gents is the dangerous ones, mostly; but looking at Glass you wouldn't think he'd ever killed all those men. Know about the dance?”
“Nope.”
“Down to Singer's place. Betty goin' with you?”