“Yes, sir,” Duncan said, anticipating a theatrical scene in which his chief would shine as usual. Duncan always enjoyed such episodes; he felt he shone with reflected power.
Gibbs dragged in a young girl and stood her in front of the chair to which the Chief had beckoned. “Sit down,” Gibbs commanded. The afflicted woman who was named, so Gibbs said, Sarah Peabody, remained standing. “Hey, squattez-vous,” her captor commanded again in a louder voice. Still Sarah was unmoved. Gibbs scratched his head and summoned his linguistic attainments to his aid.
“Setzen sie,” he shouted, but Miss Peabody remained erect.
Gibbs turned away with a gesture of despairing dignity. “I’m done,” he asserted; “that’s all the languages I know. I used to think it was a terrible thing that women could talk, but I guess the Almighty knowed more than I did.”
Duncan essayed more active measures. He pushed her into the seat. “Hey you,” cried he, “sit down there.”
Gibbs watched a little apprehensively. If Sarah Peabody had been normal, he would have pictured her as a slangy and fluent young woman with a full-sized temper. He had dealt with such before and they invariably defeated him in wordy combat. In duels of this sort Gibbs was slow to get off the mark.
Taylor came toward the afflicted one and looked shrewdly into her face. “She’s not shamming,” said he. “She’s got that stupid look they all have when they’re deaf and dumb.” He watched her closely as he said this.
“She ain’t spoke all day,” Gibbs volunteered, “and no woman what could, would keep from talking that long.”
“Women will do a lot for diamonds,” his chief observed.
“None of ’em ever do me for none,” Gibbs remarked placidly.