Zeb had stopped a few feet from the end of the table, where he stood looking fiercely at Malvina.
"Couldn't even marry a man!" he said.
His voice was as hoarse as the hot winds, something in it so suggestive of scorching vitals and burning passages that one felt impelled to offer him water.
Mrs. Goodloe recovered herself quickly, resentment of this intrusion clearing her mind of surprise. She went around the table and confronted Zeb, her arms bare to the elbows, the recollection of old indignities hot in her face.
"You git out of here, Zeb Smith!" she commanded. "You don't own a stick in this place and you ain't got no right to set your foot in it! You never was no good and you never will be, you sneakin' old devil!"
"I'll show you who's got a right and who ain't!" Zeb threatened. "A man's home's where his wife lives. That's the law. And here I come home and find my wife settin' at the side of a feller she thinks she's married to, eatin' a infare supper with a passel of people that's aigged her on into bigamy. I'll make you smoke—I'll make ever'one of you smoke!"
The barber had slipped down in his chair until he sat on the middle of his spine. He appeared to have shrunk in upon himself to about half his
