He thumped on the cracked, unpainted
door, and impatiently waited the skirmish of observation along the edge
of the window-blinds. This was unduly drawn out. Presently he heard
women's voices whispering to each other inside. They seemed urgent,
almost angry voices. Now and then he caught a sentence:
"What difference will it make?" "I couldn't." "Why couldn't you?"
"Because--" "That's because you've been to Nashville." "Oh, well--" A
chair was moved over a bare floor. A little later footsteps came to the
entrance, the door opened, and Cissie's withered yellow mother stood
before him.
Vannie offered her hand and inquired after Peter's health with a stopped
voice that instantly recalled his mother's death. After the necessary
moment of talk, the mulatto inquired for Cissie.
The yellow woman seemed slightly ill at ease.
"Cissie ain't so well, Peter."
"She's not ill?"
"N-no; but the excitement an' ever'thing--" answered Vannie, vaguely.
In the flush of his plans, Peter was keenly disappointed.
"It's very important, Mrs.
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