“Maybe he does,” Bob agreed, but that hadn’t occurred to him.
“Maybe we can help those two. Come on down, and if the bounders show a disposition to pump us, let’s give them an earful.”
“Great guns, we don’t want to tell him they are here—”
“Of course not, you nut. We’ll see what they lead up to. You follow my lead. Come along.” They raced down stairs quietly and into the dining room. Mrs. Fenton had finished serving the travelers and had gone to the cellar where she was rescuing preserves.
“Good car you have,” Jim remarked, and Burnam glanced at him.
“Pretty good,” he admitted. “Know anything about cars?”
“Enough to run a flivver,” Jim answered modestly. Burnam sized them up as a pair of country hicks and smiled broadly.
“Interesting neighborhood around here,” he ventured.
“Oh, fair,” Jim drawled.
“Not many strangers,” Burnam went on.