She turned to Bumpett, putting the paper into her pocket. She belonged to a sex whose natural impulse it is to hit a man when he is down.
“Are you satisfied now?” she inquired, “or have you anything else to warn me about?”
George and the Pig-driver left the kitchen together. Once outside the old man broke into a whirlwind of curses. Williams turned away.
“Come back,” gasped Bumpett; “I know what ye’ve been doin’, ye lyin’ dog that ye are! Ye’ve been tellin’ that high-nosed, preachin’ devil yer sins, have ’ee? An’ you swearin’ on the Bible when I made terms with ’ee, an’ now maybe lettin’ loose the whole country on me. Well, ye’ll likely swing yesself, ye fool; that’s what ye’ll get fer yer pains—damn ye!”
“I’ve never spoke a word about you. I said no more to Mrs. Walters than that I’d led a bad life—and so I have.”
Bumpett stared.
“An’ was that the meanin’ o’ what she said?”
“I suppose so,” said Williams.
The Pig-driver climbed into his cart as he had done the day before; he had never made such a bad business of anything.