"No, nobody just azackly sick," dodged Greening.
"Well, laws my soul, you make a mighty mystery over it! What's the matter--can't you talk?"
"But I can't say, Missis Newbolt, that everybody's just azackly well," said he.
"You don't mean my Joe?" she asked slowly, a shadow of pain drawing her face.
"Isom?" said she, relieved. "Why didn't Joe come after me?" Before Sol could adjust his program to meet this unexpected exigency, she demanded: "Well, what's the matter with Isom?"
"Dead," said Sol, dropping his voice impressively.
"You don't mean--well, shades of mercy, Isom dead! What was it--cholera-morbus?"
"Killed," said Sol; "shot down with his own gun and killed as dead as a dornix."
"Only one man knows," said Sol, shaking his head solemnly. "I'll tell you how it was."
Sol started away back at the summons to jury service, worked up to the case in which he and Isom had sat together, followed Isom then along the road home, and galloped to overtake him. He arrived at his gate--all in his long and complete narrative--again, as he had done in reality the night past; he heard the shot in Isom's house; he leaped to the ground; he ran. He saw a light in the kitchen of Isom's house, but the door was closed; he knocked, and somebody called to him to enter. He opened the door and saw Isom lying there, still and bloody, money--gold money--all over him, and a man standing there beside him. There was nobody else in the room.
"Shades of mercy!" she gasped. "Who was that man?"
Sol looked at her pityingly. He put his hand to his forehead as if it gave him pain to speak.
She sighed, greatly lightened and relieved.
"Oh, then Joe he told you how it happened?" said she.
"Ma'am," said Sol impressively, "he said they was alone in the kitchen when it happened; he said him and Isom had some words, and Isom he reached up to pull down the gun, and the hammer caught, and it went off and shot him. That's what Joe told me, ma'am."
"Well, Sol Greening, you talk like you didn't believe him!" she scorned. "If Joe said that, it's so."
"I hope to God it is!" said Sol, drawing a great breath.
If Sol had looked for tears, his eyes were cheated; if he had listened for screams, wailings, and moanings, his ears were disappointed. Sarah Newbolt stood straight and haughtily scornful in her kitchen door, her dark eyes bright between their snapping lids.