"They have a spat every time they come within gunshot of each other." The lean fellow who had driven the mower, and whose name was Jerry Myers, edged carelessly close to Bud and gave him a nudge with his elbow, and a glance from under his eyebrows by way of emphasis.

He turned his head slightly, saw that Honey had gone into the house, and muttered just above a whisper, "Don't see or hear anything.

It's all the help you can give her.

And for Lord's sake don't let on to Honey like you--give a cuss whether it rains or not, so long 's it don't pour too hard the night of the dance." Bud looked up at the darkening sky speculatively, and tried not to hear the voices in the kitchen, one of which was brutally harsh while the other told of hate and fear suppressed under gentle forbearance.

The harsh voice was almost continuous, the other infrequent, reluctant to speak at all.