The man grunted, took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves and sat down at the table.
"Not very talkative," thought Marsh. Then the woman told him to sit down at the place she had prepared for him. She heaped the three plates with a stew-like mixture. Marsh did not recognize it, but he liked the flavor. With this, and the fresh home-made bread, a cup of strong coffee, and urged on by a healthy appetite, which his morning in the frosty country air had made keener, he enjoyed his lunch.
To these people eating was just a part of their day's work, and beyond the satisfying of a natural appetite, evidently produced no special feeling of enjoyment. Contrary to his expectations, therefore, Marsh did not find an opportunity to open a conversation. One or two remarks were greeted merely with grunts, so he decided to wait until the business of eating had been completed. The man's food disappeared rapidly, including a second helping, and Marsh was pleased to see him at last take out an old cob pipe and fill it with an evil-looking, strong-smelling tobacco from a dirty paper package. Marsh lit a cigarette, chiefly as a matter of protection.
"Have you lived here long?" inquired Marsh, addressing the man.
"Tree year," answered the woman. The man rolled his eyes in her direction.
"I'm thinking of buying a place around here," continued Marsh. "This house next door seems to be a nice place."
He nodded his head in the direction of the Merton home.
The man and his wife exchanged glances. She laughed, but the man's face looked as solemn as its expressionless lines would permit.
"Et bane bad place," he muttered.
"Nels—he bane crazy!" snapped the woman. "Crazy widt de moonshane!"