“Whoa, now,” Anse said. “Get a grip on yourself.”
“Yes,” I said, tightening my throat. There was another yellow butterfly, like one of the sunflecks had come loose. After a while I didnt have to hold my throat so tight. I got up. “I’m ready. Which way?”
We followed the path, the two others watching Julio and the little girl and the boys somewhere in the rear. The path went along the river to the bridge. We crossed it and the tracks, people coming to the doors to look at us and more boys materializing from somewhere until when we turned into the main street we had quite a procession. Before the drugstore stood an auto, a big one, but I didn’t recognise themuntilMrs Bland said,
“Why, Quentin! Quentin Compson!” Then I saw Gerald, and Spoade in the back seat, sitting on the back of his neck. And Shreve. I didnt know the two girls.
“Quentin Compson!” Mrs Bland said.
“Good afternoon,” I said, raising my hat. “I’m under arrest. I’m sorry I didnt get your note. Did Shreve tellyou?”
“Under arrest?” Shreve said. “Excuse me,” he said. He heaved himself up and climbed over their feet and got out. He had on a pair of my flannel pants, like a glove. I didnt remember forgetting them. I didnt remember how many chins Mrs Bland had, either. The prettiest girl was with Gerald in front, too. They watched me through veils, with a kind of delicate horror. “Who’s under arrest?” Shreve said. “What’s this, mister?”
“Gerald,” Mrs Bland said, “Send these people away. You get in this car, Quentin.” Gerald got out. Spoade hadnt moved.
“What’s he done, Cap?” he said. “Robbed a hen house?” “I warn you,” Anse said. “Do you know the prisoner?” “Know him,” Shreve said. “Look here—”
“Then you can come along to the squire’s. You’re obstructing justice. Come along.” He shook my arm.
“Well, good afternoon,” I said. “I’mglad to have seen you all. Sorry I couldnt be with you.” “You, Gerald,” Mrs Bland said.
“Look here, constable,” Gerald said.
“I warn you you’re interfering with an officer of the law,” Anse said. “If you’ve anything to say, you can come to the squire’s and make cognizance of the prisoner.” We went on. Quite a procession now, Anse and I leading. I could hear them telling them what it was, and Spoade asking questions, and then Julio said something violently in Italian and I looked back and saw the little girlstanding at the curb, looking at me with her friendly, inscrutable regard.
“Git on home,” Julio shouted at her, “I beat hellouta you.”
We went down the street and turned into a bit of lawn in which, set back from the street, stood a one storey building of brick trimmed with white. We went up the rock path to the door, where Anse halted everyone except us and made themremain outside. We entered a bare room smelling of stale tobacco. There was a sheet iron stove in the center of a wooden frame filled with sand, and a faded map on the wall and the dingy plat of a township. Behind a scarred littered table a man with a fierce roach of iron grey hair peered at us over steelspectacles.
“Got him, did ye, Anse?” he said. “Got him, Squire.”
He opened a huge dusty book and drew it to himand dipped a foulpen into an inkwellfilled with what looked like coaldust.
“Look here, mister,” Shreve said.
“The prisoner’s name,” the squire said. I told him. He wrote it slowly into the book, the pen scratching with excruciating deliberation.
“Look here, mister,” Shreve said, “We know this fellow. We—” “Order in the court,” Anse said.
“Shut up, bud,” Spoade said. “Let himdo it his way. He’s going to anyhow.”
“Age,” the squire said. I told him. He wrote that, his mouth moving as he wrote. “Occupation.” I told him. “Harvard student, hey?” he said. He looked up at me, bowing his neck a little to see over the spectacles. His eyes were clear and cold, like a goat’s. “What are you up to, coming out here kidnapping children?”
“They’re crazy, Squire,” Shreve said. “Whoever says this boy’s kidnapping—”
Julio moved violently. “Crazy?” he said. “Dont I catcha heem, eh? Dont I see weetha my own eyes—”
“You’re a liar,” Shreve said. “You never—” “Order, order,” Anse said, raising his voice.
“You fellers shet up,” the squire said. “If they dont stay quiet, turn ’em out, Anse.” They got quiet. The squire looked at Shreve, then at Spoade, then at Gerald. “You know this young man?” he said to Spoade.
“Yes, your honour,” Spoade said. “He’s just a country boy in school up there. He dont mean any harm. I think the marshall’llfind it’s a mistake. His father’s a congregationalminister.”
“H’m,” the squire said. “What was you doing, exactly?” I told him, he watching me with his cold, pale eyes. “How about it, Anse?”
“Might have been,” Anse said. “Themdurn furriners.” “I American,” Julio said. “I gotta da pape’.”
“Where’s the gal?”
“He sent her home,” Anse said. “Was she scared or anything?”
“Not till Julio there jumped on the prisoner. They were just walking along the river path, towards town. Some boys swimming told us which way they went.”
“It’s a mistake, Squire,” Spoade said. “Children and dogs are always taking up with himlike
that. He cant help it.”
“H’m,” the squire said. He looked out of the window for a while. We watched him. I could hear Julio scratching himself. The squire looked back.
“Air you satisfied the galaint took any hurt, you, there?” “No hurt now,” Julio said sullenly.
“You quit work to hunt for her?”
“Sure I quit. I run. I run like hell. Looka here, looka there, then man tella me he seen himgiva her she eat. She go weetha.”
“H’m,” the squire said. “Well, son, I calculate you owe Julio something for taking himaway fromhis work.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “How much?” “Dollar, I calculate.”
I gave Julio a dollar.
“Well,” Spoade said, “If that’s all—I reckon he’s discharged, your honour?” The squire didn’t look at him. “How far’d you run him, Anse?”
“Two miles, at least. It was about two hours before we caught him.”
“H’m,” the squire said. He mused a while. We watched him, his stiff crest, the spectacles riding low on his nose. The yellow shape of the window grew slowly across the floor, reached the wall, climbing. Dust motes whirled and slanted. “Sixdollars.”
“Sixdollars?” Shreve said. “What’s that for?”
“Sixdollars,” the squire said. He looked at Shreve a moment, then at me again. “Look here,” Shreve said.
“Shut up,” Spoade said. “Give it to him, bud, and let’s get out of here. The ladies are waiting for us. You got sixdollars?”
“Yes,” I said. I gave himsixdollars. “Case dismissed,” he said.
“You get a receipt,” Shreve said. “You get a signed receipt for that money.”
The squire looked at Shreve mildly. “Case dismissed,” he said without raising his voice. “I’llbe damned—” Shreve said.
“Come on here,” Spoade said, taking his arm. “Good afternoon, Judge. Much obliged.” As we passed out the door Julio’s voice rose again, violent, then ceased. Spoade was looking at me, his brown eyes quizzical, a little cold. “Well, bud, I reckon you’ll do your girl chasing in Boston after this.”
“You damned fool,” Shreve said, “What the hell do you mean anyway, straggling off here, fooling with these damn wops?”
“Come on,” Spoade said, “They must be getting impatient.”
Mrs Bland was talking to them. They were Miss Holmes and Miss Daingerfield and they quit listening to her and looked at me again with that delicate and curious horror, their veils turned back upon their little white noses and their eyes fleeing and mysterious beneath the veils.
“Quentin Compson,” Mrs Bland said, “What would your mother say? A young man naturally gets into scrapes, but to be arrested on foot by a country policeman. What did they think he’d done, Gerald?”
“Nothing,” Gerald said.
“Nonsense. What was it, you, Spoade?”
“He was trying to kidnap that little dirty girl, but they caught himin time,” Spoade said.
“Nonsense,” Mrs Bland said, but her voice sort of died away and she stared at me for a moment, and the girls drew their breaths in with a soft concerted sound. “Fiddlesticks,” Mrs Bland said briskly, “If that isn’t just like these ignorant lowclass Yankees. Get in, Quentin.”
Shreve and I sat on two small collapsible seats. Gerald cranked the car and got in and we started.
“Now, Quentin, you tell me what all this foolishness is about,” Mrs Bland said. I told them, Shreve hunched and furious on his little seat and Spoade sitting again on the back of his neck beside Miss Daingerfield.
“And the joke is, all the time Quentin had us all fooled,” Spoade said. “All the time we thought he was the model youth that anybody could trust a daughter with, until the police showed himup at his nefarious work.”
“Hush up, Spoade,” Mrs Bland said. We drove down the street and crossed the bridge and passed the house where the pink garment hung in the window. “That’s what you get for not reading my note. Why didnt you come and get it? Mr MacKenzie says he told you it was there.”
“Yessum. I intended to, but I never went back to the room.”
“You’d have let us sit there waiting I dont know how long, if it hadnt been for Mr MacKenzie.
