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"Whut's gwine on up dar today?" Frony said. "Somethin is."
"Nothin," Dilsey said. "You tend to yo business en let de whitefolks tend to deir'n."
"Somethin is," Frony said. "I heard him first thing dis mawnin. 'Taint none of my business, dough."
"En I knows whut, too," Luster said.
"You knows mo den you got any use fer," Dilsey said. "Aint you jes heard Frony say hit aint none of yo business? You take Benjy on to de back and keep him quiet swell I put di
"I knows whar Miss Quentin is," Luster said.
"Den jes keep hit," Dilsey said. "Soon es Quentin need any of yo egvice, I'll let you know. Y'all g'awn en play in de back, now."
"You know whut gwine happen soon es dey start playin dat ball over yonder," Luster said.
"Dey wont start fer a while yit. By dat time T. P. be here to take him ridin. Here, you gimme dat new hat."
Luster gave her the hat and he and Ben went on across the back yard. Ben was still whimpering, though not loud. Dilsey and Frony went to the cabin. After a while Dilsey emerged, again in the faded calico dress, and went to the kitchen. The fire had died down. There was no sound in the house. She put on the apron and went up stairs. There was no sound anywhere. Quentin's room was as they had left it. She entered and picked up the undergarment and put the stocking back in the drawer and closed it. Mrs Compson's door was closed. Dilsey stood beside it for a moment, listening. Then she opened it and entered, entered a pervading reek of camphor. The shades were drawn, the room in halflight, and the bed, so that at first she thought Mrs Compson was asleep and was about to close the door when the other spoke.
"Well?" she said. "What is it?"
"Hit's me," Dilsey said. "You want anything?"
Mrs Compson didn't answer. After a while, without moving her head at all, she said: "Where's Jason?"
"He aint come back yit," Dilsey said. "Whut you want?"
Mrs Compson said nothing. Like so many cold, weak people, when faced at last by the incontrovertible disaster she exhumed from somewhere a sort of fortitude, strength. In her case it was an unshakable conviction regarding the yet unplumbed event. "Well," she said presently. "Did you find it?"
"Find whut? Whut you talkin about?"
"The note. At least she would have enough consideration to leave a note. Even Quentin did that."
"Whut you talkin about?" Dilsey said. "Dont you know she all right? I bet she be walkin right in dis do befo dark."
"Fiddlesticks," Mrs Compson said. "It's in the blood. Like uncle, like niece. Or mother. I dont know which would be worse. I dont seem to care."
"Whut you keep on talkin that way fur?" Dilsey said. "Whut she want to do anything like that fur?"
"I dont know. What reason did Quentin have? Under God's heaven what reason did he have? It cant be simply to flout and hurt me. Whoever God is, He would not permit that. I'm a lady. You might not believe that from my offspring, but I am."
"You des wait en see," Dilsey said. "She be here by night, right dar in her bed." Mrs Compson said nothing. The camphor soaked cloth lay upon her brow. The black robe lay across the foot of the bed. Dilsey stood with her hand on the door knob.
"Well," Mrs Compson said. "What do you want? Are you going to fix some di
"Jason aint come yit," Dilsey said. "I gwine fix somethin. You sho you dont want nothin? Yo bottle still hot enough?"
"You might hand me my bible."
"I give hit to you dis mawnin, befo I left."
"You laid it on the edge of the bed. How long did you expect it to stay there?"
Dilsey crossed to the bed and groped among the shadows beneath the edge of it and found the bible, face down. She smoothed the bent pages and laid the book on the bed again. Mrs Compson didn't open her eyes. Her hair and the pillow were the same color, beneath the wimple of the medicated cloth she looked like an old nun praying. "Dont put it there again," she said, without opening her eyes. "That's where you put it before. Do you want me to have to get out of bed to pick it up?"
Dilsey reached the book across her and laid it on the broad side of the bed. "You cant see to read, noways," she said. "You want me to raise de shade a little?"
"No. Let them alone. Go on and fix Jason something to eat."
Dilsey went out. She closed the door and returned to the kitchen. The stove was almost cold. While she stood there the clock above the cupboard struck ten times. "One oclock," she said aloud. "Jason aint comin home. Ise seed de first en de last," she said, looking at the cold stove. "I seed de first en de last." She set out some cold food on a table. As she moved back and forth she sang, a hymn. She sang the first two lines over and over to the complete tune. She arranged the meal and went to the door and called Luster, and after a time Luster and Ben entered. Ben was still moaning a little, as to himself.
"He aint never quit," Luster said.
"Y'all come on en eat," Dilsey said. "Jason aint comin to di
He was twenty miles away at that time. When he left the house he drove rapidly to town, overreaching the slow sabbath groups and the peremptory bells along the broken air. He crossed the empty square and turned into a narrow street that was abruptly quieter even yet, and stopped before a frame house and went up the flower bordered walk to the porch.
Beyond the screen door people were talking. As he lifted his hand to knock he heard steps, so he withheld his hand until a big man in black broadcloth trousers and a stiff bosomed white shirt without collar opened the door. He had vigorous untidy iron-gray hair and his gray eyes were round and shiny like a little boy's. He took Jason's hand and drew him into the house, still shaking it.
"Come right in," he said. "Come right in."
"You ready to go now?" Jason said.
"Walk right in," the other said, propelling him by the elbow into a room where a man and a woman sat. "You know Myrtle's husband, dont you? Jason Compson, Vernon."
"Yes," Jason said. He did not even look at the man, and as the sheriff drew a chair across the room the man said,
"We'll go out so you can talk. Come on, Myrtle."
"No, no," the sheriff said. "You folks keep your seat. I reckon it aint that serious, Jason? Have a seat."
"I'll tell you as we go along," Jason said. "Get your hat and coat."
"We'll go out," the man said, rising.
"Keep your seat," the sheriff said. "Me and Jason will go out on the porch."
"You get your hat and coat," Jason said. "They've already got a twelve hour start." The sheriff led the way back to the porch. A man and a woman passing spoke to him. He responded with a hearty florid gesture. Bells were still ringing, from the direction of the section known as Nigger Hollow. "Get your hat, Sheriff," Jason said. The sheriff drew up two chairs.
"Have a seat and tell me what the trouble is."
"I told you over the phone," Jason said, standing. "I did that to save time. Am I going to have to go to law to compel you to do your sworn duty?"
"You sit down and tell me about it," the sheriff said. "I'll take care of you all right."
"Care, hell," Jason said. "Is this what you call taking care of me?"
"You're the one that's holding us up," the sheriff said. "You sit down and tell me about it."
Jason told him, his sense of injury and impotence feeding upon its own sound, so that after a time he forgot his haste in the violent cumulation of his self justification and his outrage. The sheriff watched him steadily with his cold shiny eyes.