an' said, 'Ma, how old 's grandpap?' An' when he died, nobody could a wrote on his tombstone, 'He robbed the poor an' he cheated the rich, an' he 's gone to hell with the balance a' sich.'"
Routed in his second manœuvre, Roy flung a final sally with a sort of servile abandon. "You 're a queer lot," he said. "Marks an' that club-footed Malan comes along away before day an' wants their breakfast, an' gits it, an' lights out like the devil was a-follerin' 'em. An' when I asked 'em what they 'd been doin', they up an' says they 'd been fixin' lay-overs to ketch meddlers an' make fiddlers' wives ask questions. An' then along come you all a-lookin' like hell an' shyin' at questions."
We took the information with no sign, although it confirmed our theory about the ferry. Ump turned gravely to the tavern-keeper.
"I 'll clear it all up for you slick as a whistle." Then he arose and pressed his fingers against the tavern-keeper's chest. "Roy," he said, "this is the marrow out of that bone. We 're the meddlers that they
