Once, both Ruth and Spurlock accompanied McClintock far south, to an island of blacks; and Spurlock had his first experience with the coconut dance and the booming of wooden tom-toms. He knocked at the door. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. ‘Well?’ she said. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father.
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