“You can’t be on the level! You don’t know how.”
“Why?”
“You got a wife, and you know damn well you have.”
“Yes, and she’s getting her divorce.”
Stull regarded him with habitual and sullen distrust.
“She hasn’t got it yet.”
“She’ll get it. Don’t worry.”
“I thought you was for fighting it.” 67
“I was going to fight it; but––” His slow, narrow, greenish eyes stole toward the house across the road.
“Just like that,” he said, after a slight pause; “that’s the way the little girl hit me. I’m on the level, Ben. First skirt I ever saw that I wanted to find waiting dinner for me when I come home. Get me?”