He was dreadfully scared. He felt that he might be made to do anything.
A smile crawled sluggishly over her face. “That’s so. But the thing is to get your mind set to it. Might happen a good chance any day.”
He was too simple not to show his fear, and she was quick enough to see.
“You trust me, old man, to fix it, and there won’t be nobody’ll ever guess who done it.”
“You ain’t called me your old man, Susie, this two year,” he said. “Now don’t you go for to want me to do somethin’ like that.”
“There ain’t no harm in considerin’ things, Joe. Everything’s just gone against you and me, and if a good chance was to turn up—a right safe one—I guess you’d not be the man I took you for if you don’t just grab it.”
“Well, we’ll see,” he said, eager to get off the subject. He had become set in his mind as to this matter, and meant somehow to escape the toils she was casting about him. “What’s for breakfast, Susie?”
“Oh, that old hen’s took to layin’ again. There’s eggs and bacon, and I done you some slapjacks.”
“That’s good. I’m hungry.” As he passed her to sit at the table he kissed her. “Why, you look right pert to-day.”
“Thought you might be a-spyin’ round Dory. Got to keep an eye on you fellows,” and she laughed. Manufactured laughter is a dreary product; but it answered for poor Joe as well as the most honest coinage of a merry heart. It set him at ease for a time, and they ate, while the woman tried to revive for her victim the coarse coquetry of her younger days, when she attracted or revolted men as their natures chanced to be.