So Veto’s dead and Fred’s leanin’ over the counter, dyin’, when Archibald wabbles in. He finds his way up to Fred and grabs a hold of him, thinkin’ it’s the stranger.
“Lay off’n me, pa,” says Fred. “This ain’t the other bird. He’s dead and it’s got me, too.”
“Well,” says the old man, “that’d ought to satisfy them. But it’s pretty tough on the Erie.”
“How grand!” says Bess when it was over.
“But it leaves you with a bad taste,” says Bishop.
“And a big appetite,” I says.
“Did that old man kill them all?” ast the Missus.
“All but hisself and Flamingo,” says I.
“What was he mad at?” says she.
“He was drove crazy by hunger,” I says. “His wife and his sister-in-law and her fella was starvin’ him to death.”
“Bein’ blind, he prob’ly spilled things at table,” says the Missus. “Blind men sometimes has trouble gettin’ their food.”
“The trouble ain’t confined to the blind,” says I.
When we got outside I left Bess and Bishop lead the way, hopin’ they’d head to’rds a steak garage.
“No hurry about gettin’ home,” I hollered to them. “The night’s still young yet.”
Bishop turned round.