"No," he answered.
"Why not?"
"No one else will come there now. They're afraid."
"Of what?"
"Spirits."
"And of you, Jim—eh?"
The suggestion pleased him. He came and stood close to me, and rolled up his sleeve to show me how muscular his arms were.
"Splendid! Tell me, Jim, where is Simon Judd?"
"Buried!" he said, and slouched out of the room.
I looked at his mother. Poor woman! I pitied her.