His altruistic offer sounded rather foolish in the actual saying.
He could not tell from her face whether she was glad or sorry.
“What did they arrest him for?”
“Carrying a pistol.”
She paused a moment.
“Will he—get out soon?”
“He's sentenced for thirty days.”
Cissie dropped her hands with a hopeless gesture.
“Oh, isn't this all sickening!—sickening!” she exclaimed. She looked tired. Ghosts of sleepless nights circled her eyes. Suddenly she said, “Come in. Oh, do come in, Peter.” She reached out and almost pulled him in. She was so urgent that Peter might have fancied Tump Pack at the gate with his automatic. He did glance around, but saw nobody passing except the Arkwright boy. The hobbledehoy walked down the other side of the street, hands thrust in pockets, with the usual discontented expression on his face.
Cissie slammed the door shut, and the two stood rather at a loss in the sudden gloom of the hall. Cissie broke into a brief, mirthless laugh.
“Peter, it's hard to be nice in Niggertown. I—I just happened to think how folks would gossip—you coming here as soon as Tump was arrested.”
“Perhaps I'd better go,” suggested Peter, uncomfortably.
Cissie reached up and caught his lapel.
