His voice,
even, for the moment, lost its huskiness, and vibrated with sincere
feeling as he steadied himself; and, bowing with courteous deference,
said: "I beg your pardon, miss. That was unkind. You really should have
left me to the river."
"You-all would a-drownded, sure, if I had," she retorted, somewhat
mollified by the effect of her observation.
"Which," he returned, "would have been so beautifully right and fitting
that it evidently could not be." And with this cynical remark, his
momentary bearing of self-respect was gone.
"Are you-all a-meanin' ter say that you-all was a-wantin' ter drown?"
"Something like that," he returned. And then, with a hint of ugliness in
his voice and eyes, he rasped: "But, look here, girl! do you think I'm
going to stand like this all day indulging in idle conversation with
you? Where is this aunt of yours? Can't you see that I've got to have a
drink?"
He started uncertainly toward the steps that led to the top of the bank,
and Judy, holding him by his arm, helped him to climb the steep way. A
part of the ascent he made on hands and knees. Several times he would
have fallen except for the girl's support. But, at last, they gained the
top, and stood in the garden.
"That there is the house," said Judy, pointing. "But I don't reckon as
how you-all kin git ary licker there."
The wretched man made no reply; but, with Judy still supporting him,
stumbled forward across the rows of vegetables.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51