"I want to talk to you, if you are through," he said, alternately
pulling at a soiled kid glove on his hand and twisting his stubby
mustache.
Westerfelt rose, conscious that Mrs. Dawson was eying him, and walked
down a little road through the pines. Neither spoke till they were out
of sight of the crowd. Then Bates stopped suddenly and faced his
companion. He put his foot on a fallen log, and cleared his throat.
He looked up at the sky and slowly caressed his chin with his fingers,
as Westerfelt had once seen him do in making a speech before the
justice of the peace.
"We ain't well acquainted, Westerfelt," he began, stroking his chin
downward and letting his lips meet with a clucking sound, also another
professional habit; "but, you'd find, ef you knew me better, that I
never beat the devil round the stump, as the feller said, an' I'm above
board." He paused for a moment; then he kicked a rotten spot on the
log with the broad heel of his brogan till it crumbled into dust.
"I've got some'n to say to you of a sort o' confidential nature, an' ef
you'll let me, I may ask you a point-blank question.
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