A green convertible driven by a fat woman came around the bend, trailing dust, and rattled across the bridge. "New York license plates," Luke said, squinting. "Yep," said Charley. "Maybe she'll bite." "If she stops," Charley said, "maybe she will." * * * * * The green convertible swerved off the road and pulled to a halt beside the store. The fat lady got out and looked around for a moment, blinking in the sun. She saw the three old men up on the porch and seemed to hesitate. Then she went around the back of the car and headed for the outhouse, walking a little defiantly, head up, her steps steady and deliberate. The men exchanged glances. Luke handed Charley a dollar bill. "Do her some good, maybe," Charley said. "Shy type." "Like we didn't know how it was," Sam said, shaking his head. "Or maybe," Charley said, "because we do. Funny." Luke sat down on the bottom-most step and scuffed the dirt of the yard with a toe. They watched the cowbell atop the outhouse, and listened to the murmur of the creek, and heard a bird sing in the big elm out back of the store, and waited. The chain that came up through the outhouse roof yanked down. The cowbell went _Blongle, blongle, blok!_ Charley puffed his pipe in satisfaction. Luke and Sam grinned. They waited for the fat lady to emerge. When she did, a moment later, it was looking puzzled as usual--but there was a difference. She stalked ten feet away from the outhouse, about-faced, and stared up at the cowbell. The men saw the back of her neck get red and redder still. Then she turned and came toward the porch. Her eyes were narrowed, her hands were clenched into fists, her mouth was a determined slash. She marched across the yard and stood facing the three men on the porch. She put her fists on her hips and glared. Luke and Sam stopped grinning. Charley's pipe drooped. The sun beat down on the valley, the town, the yard, the outhouse, the fat woman. Her brow was shiny with perspiration. She stood there, turned her cold blue glare on one man after another, like you'd sweep a gatling against enemy ranks. Luke said uncomfortably, "Howdy, ma'am." "You old lechers!" said the fat woman tightly. Charley and Luke and Sam exchanged dismayed looks. "Now, ma'am--" Charley began. "Don't say anything, you old lechers," the fat woman spat. "I don't want to hear your gloating, oily voices! Of all the lecherous, salacious, lascivious things to do!" "Why," Charley said doubtfully, "I guess we're a little old to be all those things--" "You're never too old to be evil-minded!" she snapped. "Even if your bodies are too old for unGodliness!" Her positive and indicating gaze raked them up and down, and she saw the cards which Charley held in his lap. "Playing cards, too!" she said, her lips curling. "Well, I guess _that_ follows!" "Follows what, ma'am?" Luke asked puzzledly. She saw the brown beer bottle resting on the box beside Charley's chair.