“Wall, boys”—the storekeeper wagged an accusing thumb in the direction of the recently vacated stool—“she was small, warn’t she? An’ she’s got brown clothes, hain’t she? An’ she acts queer, doan’t she?”
The quorum nodded in solemn agreement.
“But she doan’t look like no thief,” interceded the youngest of the “boys.” He couldn’t have been a day over seventy, and it was more than likely that he was still susceptible to youth and beauty!
The rest glowered at him with plain disapproval, while the storekeeper shifted the course of his thumb and wagged it at him instead. “Si Perkins, that’s not for you to say—nor me, neither. That’s up to Green County; an’ I cal’ate I’ll ’phone over to the sheriff, come mornin’, an’ tell him our suspicions. By Jack-a-diamonds! I’ve got to square my conscience.”
The quorum invested their thumbs again and cleared their throats.
VII
THE TINKER PLAYS A PART
There is little of the day’s happenings that escapes the ears of a country boy. Every small item of local interest is so much grist for his mill; and there is no more reliable method for a stranger to collect news than a sociable game of “peg” interspersed with a few casual but diplomatic questions. The tinker played “peg” the night after he and Patsy reached Lebanon—on the barn floor by the light of a bleary-eyed lantern with Joseph and his brethren, and thereby learned of the visit of the sheriff.