Part 10 (2/2)
”I'll go over there,” said Milford.
”No, don't do anything of the sort, not while you're mad. It's all right now.”
”No, it's not all right, but I want to tell you that I'll make it all right.”
”Now, don't go on getting hot. The thing was a joke, and is all smoothed over. It arose out of pity for the other young woman.”
”Confound it! there isn't any other woman.”
”That's all right; that's what I told them. No other woman, of course not. There never is. Well, I'll be off. I go at twelve forty-five.”
George trudged off over the clods, and Milford stood looking after him, a dark scowl on his face. Those miserable women, not half so innocent as blanketed squaws drooling about a camp-fire. And that slim Mrs.
Blakemore, lithe as a viper, had inspired it all. How could a refined woman be so full of the devil's poisonous juice? In his humble way, he had tried to help her out of a trouble. Tired, and with every bone aching, he had fought off sleep to make good his word with her. Wasp!
she had stung him. It was nearly noon, and he went to the house to make fat meat hiss in a hot pan. He sat brooding over the table when Mitch.e.l.l came in. ”Are you stalled in sight of the stable?” the hired man asked, seeing that Milford had not begun to eat.
”I'm down to the hub in a rut.”
”Prize out,” said Mitch.e.l.l, sitting down.
”That's right, I guess; only thing I can do. Shove that hog down this way. How are you getting along over there?”
”Be done by night. Rain put the ground in pretty good fix. You about done?”
”Yes. I'll plow this afternoon.”
”Say, Bill, what are divorces worth?”
”Divorces? I never bought one.”
”Well, it looks to me like I ought to get one pretty cheap under the circ.u.mstances. Wife ran away.”
”Yes, they ought to give you a good discount. Don't you think you'd better get two while you're at it? You might need another one after a while.”
”No, I guess one'll be about enough.”
”Generally, when a man is looking for a divorce, he wants to marry again. Have you got any such notion?”
”Well, I know a woman that would make a man a mighty good livin'. She ain't putty; she's as freckled as a turkey egg, but she's a hustler from 'way back. I could bring her here. You could board with us. She's a rattlin' cook; and she's got land. What do you say?”
”I say you are a scoundrel?”
”Oh, that's all right; I'm a man. But I don't see anythin' wrong in it.
She's a woman, and if it ain't right for a woman to keep house, then I don't know what it is right for her to do. She wants to marry, and I don't see that anybody is kickin' up much dust around her. What do you say?”
”I told you what I said.”
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