“Where’s Elmer?” he demanded, with a grim look which started by heart pounding.
“Elmer’s dressing,” I said as quietly as I could. “Do you want him?”
“I do,” announced my husband, whiter in the face than I had seen him for many a day.
“What for?” I asked.
“I think you know what for,” he said, meeting my eye.
“I’m not sure that I do,” I found the courage to retort. “But I’d prefer being certain.” 180
Duncan, instead of answering me, went to the foot of the stairs and called his son. Then he strode out of the room and out of the house. Struthers, in the meantime, circumspectly took possession of Minty, who was still indecorously shaking a bit of mohair between his jocund young teeth. She and Minty vanished from the scene. A moment later, however, Duncan walked back into the room. He had a riding-quirt in his hand.
“Where’s that boy?” he demanded.
I went out to the foot of the stairs, where I met Elmer coming down, buttoning his waist as he came. For just a moment his eye met mine. It was a questioning eye, but not a cowardly one. I had intended to speak to him, but my voice, for some reason, didn’t respond to my will. So I merely took the boy’s hand and led him into the living-room. There his father stood confronting him.
“Did that pup sleep on your bed last night?” demanded the man with the quirt.