"Frighten Jack and Jill?" says Pinckney. "Not if he had horns and a tail! They seem to take him as a joke. But he does make all the rest of us feel creepy."
"Why don't you write him his release?" says I.
"Can't," says Pinckney. "He is one of the conditions in the contract—he and the urns."
"The urns?" says I.
"Yes," says Pinckney, sighin' deep. "We are coming to them now. There they are."
With that we steps into one of the front rooms, and he lines me up before a white marble mantel that is just as cheerful and tasty as some of them pieces in Greenwood Cemetery. On either end was what looks to be a bronze flower pot.
"To your right," says Pinckney, "is Grandfather; to your left, Aunt Sabina."
"What's the josh?" says I.
"Shorty," says he, heavin' up another sigh, "you are now in the presence of sacred dust. These urns contain the sad fragments of two great Van Rusters."
"Fragments is good," says I. "Couldn't find many to keep, could they? Did they go up with a powder mill, or fall into a stone crusher?"