out these two, and Charlieâs dunking seemed some solace to Lloyd.
Charlie recovered pretty quick, because he said, âThem biscuits Tansyâs or your aunt Maudâs?â
âAunt Maudâs,â I said, and Lloyd agreed, to keep Charlie from picking us clean. The chicken was already gone.
It was dead of night now with a ring around the moon. J.W. came back from his patrol, limping with a bur between his toes, and crept into Lloydâs damp lap.
You could hear any distance now, even above the whine of the katydids. Way off somewhere a dog howled at the moon, and other dogs picked up his wolfish cry. Even J.W.âs ears pricked, though he never moved.
âThat howling only means but one thing,â Charlie remarked, âand you know what.â
âWhat?â Lloyd said.
âDogs always know when somebodyâs died.â
âNo, sir, youâre not getting me again, Charlie. You either, Russell,â Lloyd piped in a thin and wobbling voice, âyou dirtyââ
âI ainât talking about gettinâ anybody,â Charlie said. âSomebody did die tonight. Thatâs why weâI was late. Everybodyâs telling everybody else. Youâre the only two who donât know nothinâ about it.â
He had me about half interested. It wasnât like Charlie to pull something on his own. He didnât have that much imagination. âHowâd you find out?â I asked, to see what heâd say. Charlie didnât think quick enough to lie.
âParty line,â he said.
It was true that the Parrs subscribed to the telephone. We Culvers did too. âWho died?â I inquired.
âTake a guess,â Charlie said. âGo ahead.â
âSomebody we know?â
âYou can believe that.â
âSomebody old or young?â
âOld,â Charlie said, âas the hills.â
Lloyd was looking back and forth between us, clutching J.W. He was on the hook again, and I was getting there.
âOld as Old Man Lichtenberger?â
âNobodyâs that old,â Charlie said.
âMan or woman?â
âThatâd be tellinâ too much.â
âSomebody we like?â
âNot hardly,â Charlie said.
âSomebody whoâs been feeling poorly late?â I was wracking my brains.
Charlie shrugged his big shoulders. âShe must of felt pretty poorly tonight. She died.â
âSo itâs a woman!â
âMore or less,â Charlie said.
The truth burst over me. âYou donât mean Miss Myrt Arbuckle!â
âYou got her,â Charlie said. âSheâs dead as mutton.â
âCharlie, you lyingââ
âNo, Russell, believe me or believe me not. Miss Myrt kicked the bucket right about supper time.â
âProve how you know.â I narrowed my eyes.
âWell, she rooms and boards with Miz Cooper, and when Miz Cooper rung the doctor, everybody picked up. My ma did. You can bet your aunt Maud did.â
That was the beauty of the old party line telephone. A call for one was a call for all. When somebody rang for the doctorâtwo long rings and a short oneâeverybody picked up.
âWhen Miss Myrt didnât come to supper, Miz Cooper went to her room. The old hen was stretched out on the bed, deader than a doornail. Doc Wilkinson told Miz Cooper to put pennies on Miss Myrtâs eyes to keep them closed till he could get there. And he said to tie up her jaw with a rag to keep it from sagging. So sheâs shut up at last.â
Lloydâs eyes were wide and staring. His jaw hung open.
I was almost speechless with amazement, but not quite. âWhat killed her?â
âYou got me,â Charlie said. âAll I know for sure is sheâs cut her last switch.â
Manyâs the time sheâd striped Charlie Parrâs other end, back before the arthritis got in her elbow. Though he was a preacherâs son, it