“He has a lot of friends. But perhaps if it could be proved that he had a secret agreement, or understanding, with McCarrey——”
“Wish we’d searched that Whitey,” growled out Zeph, shaking his head mournfully.
“If you didn’t always jump into a thing without first looking!” exclaimed Ralph. “Well, where are you stopping?”
“I’ve got a room on Pearl Street. You know the place? But I didn’t think of sleeping to-night.”
“And you won’t, after that milk and mince pie and the acrobatic activities you have just indulged in,” said Ralph, chuckling. “I’ll go over to the room with you. We can talk there. I’ve got something to show you.”
“Huh?” questioned Zeph, curiously.
In five minutes they reached the poorly furnished rooming-house in which Zeph was usually sheltered when he came to Rockton. It seemed as though he had a horror of living in good quarters, or as ordinarily respectable people lived.
“You surely are foolish, Zeph,” declared Ralph. “There’s a good bed and room at your disposal at our house. Mother was only speaking of it this evening. And yet you prefer a ranch like this.”
“As I told you, I never know what sort of a mess I may be getting into. Don’t want to make your mother trouble. Couldn’t think of doing more than coming to Sunday dinner and eating chicken.”
“That’s a promise,” agreed Ralph, smiling. “I’ll order a pair of chickens from the butcher in the morning.”