“Well, we’ll be going,” muttered Blosser. “All this comes from trying to do business with women. You had as good as passed us your word that you’d sell to us, and see what’s happened. However, women don’t know nothing about ethics. Come on, Fluss.”
He was too disappointed and angry to notice the slip of his tongue, but Fluss flushed a brick red.
“Just one minute,” said Mr. Richard Gordon, blocking the doorway. “You don’t leave this place until you promise to produce that boy.”
Blosser feigned ignorance, but the attempt deceived no one.
“What boy?” he blustered. “You seem bent on stirring up trouble, Stranger.”
“You know very well what boy,” retorted Mr. Gordon evenly. “You’ll stir up something more than mere trouble if he isn’t brought here within a few minutes, or information given where we may find him. Where is Bob Henderson?”
“Here, sir!” a blithe voice announced, and the door leading into a communicating room was jerked open.
Bob, his clothing a bit the worse for wear, but apparently sound and whole, stood there, brandishing a stout club.
“Oh, Bob!” Betty’s cry quite drowned the exclamation of the aunts, but Bob had no eye for any one but Blosser and Fluss, who were making a wild attempt to get past Mr. Gordon.