"My God!" The grave-digger was staring into the hole with all his bulging eyes. "You fool! You clumsy, blunderin' fool!" The epithet passed unheard, for the grave-digger was looking at the stark body rolled in a soiled blanket now lying face downward in the dirt of the grave. "Jump in there and put him back!" cried Lutz excitedly. The grave-digger backed off and shook his head emphatically. "Not _me_!" "What are you here for--you?" "Not for jobs like this; this sure don't look right to me." "What do I care how it looks to you! Get busy and help me roll him back and be quick about it!" "I ain't paid for no such crooked work as this." "Crooked?" "I've heard it straight that every pauper had a suit o' clothes, a coffin, a six-foot grave, and a headboard comin' to him from the County. That's the law." "Look here, Lem, use a little sense. Now what's the use spendin' County money on these paupers from God knows where? That's a good blanket." "Oh, yes, that's a peach of a blanket. Kind of a shame to waste such a good blanket, ain't it? Why don't you take it off him? He'll never tell. But say, are you sure the County don't pay for that suit of clothes and coffin and six feet of diggin' he didn't git?" "Are you goin' to lend a hand here or not?" "Not." The grave-digger picked up his shovel and started off looking like a gnome in the moonlight under his high-crowned Stetson. "Come back here! Don't be a fool." "I'm not the man you're lookin' for," he replied stubbornly. The undertaker started after him and laid a hand roughly upon his arm. "See here, Lem, you goin' to blab this all over town?" Remembering the graves he had dug for $5.00, the grave-digger began to enjoy Lutz's anxiety. "Can't tell what I'll do when I get a few drinks in me." "You start somethin' and you'll be sorry." Lutz's tone was threatening. "I'm naturally truthful; I aims to stick strictly to facts if I does talk." "Facts don't cut any ice in a libel suit," replied the undertaker significantly. Libel suit! That sounded like the law and the grave-digger had a poor man's fear of the law. There was less assurance in his voice when he asserted-- "No man don't own me." "I don't want to see you get in trouble, Lem, and I'm tellin' you for your own good that you better keep your trap shut on this. Who'd believe you if you'd tell any such story? You couldn't prove anything with the mayor and town officer against you if it was anything likely to get out and hurt the town. Who of Lamb and Harpe's friends that see them pikin' off to church every Sunday, singin' their sa'ms and the first at the altar of a Communion Sunday, who, I say, would believe us if we'd tell what we knew about that hospital and the whole lot more that we suspect? They could bluff you out because you haven't got the money it would take to prove you're right. Come back here and behave yourself and I'll try and get you that $10." "If I wasn't a family man----" mumbled the grave-digger.