"It seems to me," said he, soliloquizing, "that Mrs. Deans has washed more'n she can hang out! Jed Holder's daughter can keep her month shet if she makes up her mind to it; I knowed Jed."
This ragman had not gathered the rags of Jamestown for thirty years without acquiring some knowledge of the people. "I kin read 'em by their rags," he used to tell his wife.
He was justified in doubting Mrs. Deans' ability to perform the task she had set herself--to fathom Myron's secret.
"That girl of Jed Holder's has made a fine job of herself!" the ragman said to old Mr. Carroll, as he drove homeward in the evening.
"Yes," said old Carroll; "women are a bad lot, a bad, scheming lot."
"Oh, come, come; you'll be getting married to some young girl one of these fine days," retorted the astute ragman.
"I--no, sir; not such a fool," snorted the old man, highly pleased. "Will you come in and have a drop?"
The ragman would; they entered the house together, the black horse meantime reaching down to nibble at the last year's grass, through which the first tender blades of the new growth were pointing.
Presently the ragman emerged, looking much happier and warmer; the wind was chill in the evenings yet, and Mr. Carroll's "drop" meant a good, stiff glass of gin.
Mr. Carroll came to the door after him. "Mrs. Deans declares she'll find out, but the job will puzzle even her, I'll warrant," the ragman was saying as he climbed nimbly up over the front wheel.
"Trust her for that; women are all alike. 'Set a thief to catch a thief,'" replied his host with a sardonic chuckle. (If Mrs. Deans could have heard him!)
The ragman loudly evidenced his appreciation of this fine wit, and departed, calling out, "Evening--good evening--you've got a fine, snug place here, Mr. Carroll."
His homeward way led through quiet country roads, and long grass-grown "concessions."
The promise of spring made sweet the air, and although the night felt gray and chill, it did not numb, as do autumn nights of the same temperature.
The ragman's house stood on the outskirts of a little town, and was dwarfed and overshadowed by the barn, which occupied the main portion of the lot. One little corner of this barn was devoted to the big black horse; the rest was given over to rags. If the rags are not sent to the mills as they are collected, they are "sorted," which means that buttons, hooks, and eyes are cut off, and the woollen separated from the cotton rags. The former are sent to the shoddy mills; the paper factories absorb the others.