Fibsy grinned and came, seating himself on a cushioned swing nearby.
“Whatcha want?” he demanded.
“Only a line o’ talk. Your Mr. Stone, now, do you think he’ll show up soon, or has he gone for a nap?”
“Fleming Stone doesn’t take naps,” Fibsy said, disdainfully; “he isn’t that sort.”
“Then he’ll be down again shortly?”
“Dunno. Maybe he’s begun his fasting and prayer over this phenomenal case.”
“Does he do that?”
“How do I know? I’m not of a curious turn of mind, me havin’ other sins to answer for.”
“I know. Mr. Stone told us you have no respect for the truth.”
“Did he, now! Well, he’s some mistaken! I have such a profound respect for the truth that I never use it except on very special occasions.”