Jeb, in his shirt
sleeves now, sat down and fell to. She sat opposite him, her
hands in her lap. He used his knife in preference to his fork,
leaping the blade high, packing the food firmly upon it with
fork or fingers, then thrusting it into his mouth. He ate
voraciously, smacking his lips, breathing hard, now and then
eructing with frank energy and satisfaction.
"My stummick's gassy right smart this year," he observed after
a huge gulp of coffee. "Some says the heavy rains last spring
put gas into everything, but I dunno. Maybe it's Keziah's
cooking. I hope you'll do better. Why, you ain't eatin' nothin'!"
"I'm not hungry," said Susan. Then, as he frowned suspiciously,
"I had a late breakfast."
He laughed. "And the marrying, too," he suggested with a flirtatious
nod and wink. "Women's always upset by them kind of things."
When he had filled himself he pushed his chair back. "I'll set
with you while you wash up," said he. "But you'd better take off
them Sunday duds. You'll find some calikers that belonged to maw
in a box under the bed in our room." He laughed and winked at her.
"That's the one on t'other side of the settin'-room. Yes--that's
our'n!" And he winked again.
The girl, ghastly white, her great eyes staring like a
sleepwalker's, rose and stood resting one hand on the back of
the chair to steady her.
Jeb drew a cigar from his waistcoat pocket and lighted it.
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