“Hear any politics talked around, Jed?”

“Nothin’ special.”

Jed was brief in his answers.  He seemed depressed, and conducted himself like a man who had something on his mind.

“Any fresh news from anywheres?”

“Hain’t heard none.”

“Hear about the Packinses down to Bailey?”

“Never heard tell of ’em.”  There was excellent reason for this, because no such family as the Packinses existed in Bailey or anywhere else, to Scattergood’s knowledge.

“Goin’ to separate,” said Scattergood.

Jed looked up quickly, bit his lip, and looked down again.

“What fur?” he asked.

“Nobody kin figger out.  Jest agreein’ to disagree.  Can’t git along, nohow.  Always naggin’ at each other and squabblin’ and hectorin’....  Nice young folks, too.  Used to set a heap of store by one another.  Can’t figger how they come to disagree like they do!”

“Nobody kin figger it out,” said Jed, with sudden vehemence.  “All to once you wake up and things is that way, and you dunno how they come to be.  It jest drifts along.  Fust you know things has went all to smash.”

“Um!...  You talk like you knowed somethin’ about it.”

“Nobody knows more,” said the young man, bitterly.  He was suddenly conscious that he wanted to talk about his domestic affairs; that he wanted to loose the story of his troubles and dwell upon them in all their ramifications.

“Do tell,” said Scattergood, with an inflection of astonishment.

“Marthy and me has about come to the partin’ of our roads,” said Jed.  “It’s come gradual, without our noticin’ it, but it’s here at last.  Seems like we can’t bear the sight of each other—­when we git together.  And yit—­sounds mighty funny, too—­I calc’late to be as fond of Marthy as ever I was.  But the minute we git together we bicker and quarrel till there hain’t no pleasure into life at all.”

“All Marthy’s fault, hain’t it?  Kind of a mean disposition, hain’t she?”

“No sich thing, Scattergood, and you know it dum well.  There didn’t use to be a sweeter-dispositioned girl in the state than Marthy....  Somethin’s jest went wrong.  They’s times when I git mad and it all looks to be her fault, and then I ketch my own self startin’ some hectorin’ meanness.  ’Tain’t all her fault, and ’tain’t all my fault.  The whole sum and substance of it is that we can’t git along with each other no more.”

“So you calc’late to separate?”

“Been talkin’ it up some.”

“Marthy willin’?”

“Hain’t neither of us willin’.  We fix it up and agree to try over ag’in, and then, fust thing we know, we’re right into the middle of another squabble.  I want Marthy, and I guess Marthy wants me, but we want each other like we was five year back and not like we be now.”

“Been married five year, hain’t you?”

“Five year last April.”

“Um!...  Wa-al, I hope nothin’ comes of it, Jed.  But if it has to it will.  Better live happy separate than unhappy together....  G’-by, Jed.”