Jane’s eyes opened wide.
“That’s an idea, Mary Lou! There are people like that—crazy along just one particular line. They feel they simply have to light fires. Firebugs, you know.”
“Incendiary is the correct term, I believe,” said Mary Louise.
“Oh, so you’ve already thought of it and looked up the word!”
“Yes, I’ve thought of it. Who wouldn’t have? It’s the first explanation that jumps into your head when you hear of a fire. They say lighted cigarettes start them too, and small children.”
“Small children? But not boys as big as Freckles and the Smiths?”
An expression of pain passed over Mary Louise’s face.
“I’m afraid everybody suspects the boys. Especially Mr. Flick.... I’m going to call Freckles now and ask him just exactly what he did yesterday. Then, if you’re interested, Jane, I’ll read you all my list of suspects.”
“Sure I’m interested. I love to play the part of Watson to the great Sherlock Holmes Gay!” Mary Louise stuck out her tongue.
“Don’t be so fresh!” she said, but she was pleased and flattered to be called Sherlock Holmes.