'If they is,' I said, 'you just tell me all about it, because two heads is better than one.'
'You miserable-! Aren't you ever going to get out of here?' she yelled. 'Why are you still sitting at the table?'
'Why, I'm drinking this here coffee,' I said. 'You look real close an' you can see that I am.'
'Well-well, take it with you! Drink it somewhere else!'
'You mean you want me to leave the table?' I said.
'
I said I plumb liked to be obliging, but if she studied it over she'd see it didn't make much sense for me to leave the table. 'I mean, it's almost time for dinner,' I said. 'You'll be bringin' it in any minute now, so why for should I leave when I can set right here an' be all ready to start eatin'?'
'Y-You!' Her teeth gritted together. '
'Without no dinner?' I said. 'You mean I got to work all afternoon on an empty stomach?'
'But you just got-' She choked up, and sagged down into a chair.
I said that was fine, she should set down and rest herself up a little, and it didn't matter at all if dinner was maybe a minute or two late. And she said-
I don't know what she said. We just went on talking back and forth for a while, neither of us really listening to the other. Which didn't bother her any, since she never paid any attention to me anyhow, and to tell the truth I never actually paid a lot of attention to her, anyhow. Anyways, I couldn't have done it today even if I'd wanted to, because I was too worried about what would happen when Tom and Uncle John were found dead.
That's why I'd been pestering Myra, I guess. I didn't want to get out and face up to whatever was going to happen, so I'd start gigging at her. That was kind of a habit with me, I reckon, taking it out on her when I felt bad or bothered. More of a habit than I maybe realized.
'Where at is Lennie?' I said, picking up the conversation again. 'He don't hurry up he'll be late for dinner!'
'He's had his dinner! I mean, I fixed him a lunch before he left!'
'You mean he's outside when maybe the sun will stop shining pretty soon and it'll start raining to beat heck, and he'll probably spoil his clothes and get himself an awful cold?' I said. 'Now, that ain't takin' very good care of your brother, honey.'
Myra's face began to swell, kind of like she was blowing out her cheeks. She stared at me, her eyes popping, and god-dang if she didn't sort of tremble all over.
'Why for did Lennie go out in the daytime, anyways?' I said. 'He can't peek in no windows when it's light.'
'You!' Myra said, pushing herself up from the chair. 'Y-You-' She pointed toward the door, her hand shaking like a leaf. 'You get out of here, you hear me? GET OUT OF HERE!'
'You mean, you want me to leave?' I said. 'Well, you should've said so sooner. Maybe given me a little hint.'
I put on my hat, and told her to be sure and call me when dinner was ready. She made a wild grab for the sugar bowl, and I got on down the stairs pretty fast.
I sat down in my office. I tilted my hat over my eyes, and put my boots up on the desk. It looked to me like it was a good time to take a little nap, because people still weren't getting around much on account of the mud. But this was one day I just couldn't keep my eyes closed.
Finally, I stopped trying. There just wasn't much point to it with me so scared-worried. I figured the best thing I could do was to get things over with; get some fellas together and start the hunt for Tom. Then, whatever happened, I'd know what it was, at least, and I wouldn't have to fret myself anymore.
I got up and started for the door. The phone rang, and I went back to answer it. And just as I did, Lennie came busting in.
He was waving his arms, burbling and spitting all-the-heck over everything with excitement.
I waved him to simmer down, and spoke into the phone. 'Just a minute, Robert Lee. Lennie just came in, and it looks like he wants to tell me somethin'.'
'Never mind. I know what he wants to tell you,' Robert Lee Jefferson said, and he told me what it was. 'Now, you better get right down here and take charge.'
I said I'd do that, and I did.
It was Henry Clay Fanning, a farmer who lived a couple miles south of the Hauck place, who'd found the bodies. He'd been out cutting cordwood at the time, and he'd just pitched 'em up on top of his load and brought 'em on into town.
'Didn't waste a minute,' he said proudly, spitting snuff into the mud. 'You reckon the county'll sort of take care o' me for my trouble?'
'Well, I'm not real sure they will, Henry Clay,' I said, noticing how Uncle John's head was crushed between the wood and the wagon bed. 'After all, you was comin' to town anyways.'
'But what about that nigger?' he said. 'A white man ought to get some kind of ree-ward for handlin' a nigger.'
'Well, maybe you will,' I said. 'If not in this world, the next one.'
He went on arguing about it. Some of the people in the crowd picked up the argument, debating it back and forth between themselves. They were about evenly divided on the subject, one group claiming that Henry Clay was entitled to a reward, and the other saying that a white that was fool enough to bother with a nigger didn't deserve nothing but an ass-kicking.
I grabbed hold of a couple of colored fellas, and told 'em to carry Uncle John's body back to his folks. And they kind of dragged their feet, but of course they did it. Then, me and Robert Lee and one of his clerks carried Tom into Taylor's Emporium, Furniture and Undertaking.
I told Robert Lee I'd kind of like his opinion on things, and he turned on me, looking sickish. 'Can't you at least let me wash my hands?' he snapped. 'Are you in such an all-fired hurry I can't even do that?'
'Not me,' I said. 'I ain't in no more hurry than ol' Tom is, and I sure don't see him bein' in one, do you, Robert Lee? Kind of hard to tell which is the biggest, ol' Tom or the hole in him!'
We all washed up in the rear of the Emporium, Robert Lee looking awful pale and sickish. Then his clerk went on back to the hardware store, me an' Robert Lee following him maybe ten minutes later. We couldn't make it any sooner than that, because Robert Lee had to make himself another quick trip and a long visit to the wash-sink.
He held himself straight and tight-lipped as we left, still as pale as a ghost. Then, just as we stepped out the door, Henry Clay Fanning latched hold of him.
That Henry Clay was a real case, what we call a cotton-patch lawyer down here. He knew all the privileges he was entitled to-and maybe three or four million others besides-but he didn't have much sense of his obligations. None of his fourteen kids had ever been to school, because making kids go to school was interferin' with a man's constitutional rights. Four of his seven girls, all of 'em that were old enough to be, were pregnant. And he wouldn't allow no one to ask 'em how they'd got that way, because that was his legal responsibility, it was a father's job to care for his children's morals, and he didn't have to tolerate any interference.
Of course, everyone had a pretty good idea who'd gotten those girls pregnant. But under the circumstances, there wasn't any way of proving it, and with Henry Clay being kind of mean-tempered no one talked much about it.
So here he was now, exercisin' his rights again. Grabbing Robert Lee Jefferson by the arm and whirling him around.
'Now, you see here, Robert Lee,' he said. 'Maybe that doggone Nick Corey don't know the law, but
