“Here’s yore coal oil,” said Hork, coming in from the rear. “You tell yore ma she better get a bigger can. That one just holds an even gallon.”
“Ma knows it,” grinned Jimmy, holding it gingerly. “She measured it. If it ain’t plumb full when I get home, me or you are goin’ to catch thunder.”
Hork exploded with laughter while Jimmy went pattering out of the store, watching his step closely.
“Jimmy is a great lad,” observed Hork. “He sure sees the funny side of things. Was he tellin’ you about Jack Hartwell?”
“Yeah,” Hashknife inhaled deeply on his cigaret. “Jack Hartwell is in kinda bad around here, ain’t he?”
“Well, it’s too bad,” admitted Hork. “Still, I reckon I ain’t in no position to talk about it a-tall. If he done what they say he did, he ought to get hung. But if he didn’t, he hadn’t.”
“Well, that’s justice,” said Hashknife seriously. “I hope he knows how yuh feel about it.”
“I try to be fair about things.”
“Well, that’s right, I suppose. Sleepy, let’s me and you go and wrap our insides around some ham and eggs. It seems like years and years since I ate anythin’.”
They walked out and crossed the street to the restaurant, where they had eaten the night before. They ordered a big meal and did full justice to it.