observing that Verman was again convulsed with unctuous merriment, joined laughter with his brother. "Sho! I guess I uz dess talkin' whens I said 'at! Reckon he thought I meant it, f'm de way he tuck an' run. Hiyi! Reckon he thought ole Herman bad man! No, suh, I uz dess talkin', 'cause I nev' would cut nobody! I ain' tryin' git in no jail—no, suh!"
Penrod looked at the scythe; he looked at Herman. He looked at the lawn-mower, and he looked at Verman. Then he looked out in the yard at the rake. So did Sam Williams.
"Come on, Verman," said Herman. "We ain' got 'at stove-wood f' supper yit."
Giggling reminiscently, the brothers disappeared, leaving silence behind them in the carriage-house. Penrod and Sam retired slowly into the shadowy interior, each glancing, now and then, with a preoccupied air, at the open, empty doorway where the late afternoon sunshine was growing ruddy. At intervals one or the other scraped the floor reflectively with the side of his shoe. Finally, still without either having made any effort at conversation, they went out into the yard and stood, continuing their silence.
