"I see a woman on the back seat," remarked Washburn. "Wonder why she
didn't git out at the hotel."
In a moment the hack was in front of the stable, and Budd Ridly, the
driver, had sprung down and was helping a woman out on the opposite
side. When she had secured her shawl and little carpet-bag, she walked
round the hack and came towards Westerfelt.
It was Sue Dawson. She wore the same black cotton bonnet and gown, now
faded and soiled, that she had worn at her daughter's funeral.
"Howdy' do?" she said, giving him the ends of her fingers, and resting
her carpet-bag on her hip. "I _'lowed_ you'd be glad to see me."
There was a malicious gleam in her little blue eyes, and her withered
face was hard and pale and full of desperate purpose.
"How do you do?" he replied.
She smiled as she slowly scrutinized him.
"Well, you _don't_ look as if you wus livin' on a bed of ease exactly,"
she said, in a tone of satisfaction; "you've been handled purty rough,
I reckon, fer a dandified feller like you, but--" She stopped suddenly
and glanced at Washburn, who was staring at her in surprise, then went
on: "Budd Ridly couldn't change a five-dollar bill, an' he 'lowed I
might settle my fare with the proprietor uv the shebang.
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