“Not half as sorry as I am.” He scowled. “And when I get to Albany I’m going to hunt up a lawyer. If those Smith kids did it, their parents can pay for the damage!”
“Oh, but they didn’t!” protested Mary Louise.
“It’s too bad if your brother was in it too. But if he was, he ought to be punished—though I blame that Robby Smith as the ringleader. Boys like those aren’t safe to have around. They don’t have anybody to control them. They ought to be locked behind the walls of a reform school.”
There was nothing Mary Louise could say: the man was far too wrought up to listen to reason. So she and Jane merely nodded goodbye and turned away.
They stopped at the Partridges’ cottage to see Mrs. Flick and found her much calmer.
“I blame the Adams girl,” she said. “Hattie’s so careless! And she was the last one at the inn. I never should have left her alone. But my other waitresses wanted to get back to their hometown, and they left early—before we did. So I can’t lay the blame on them.”
“You really don’t think the boys did it, do you, Mrs. Flick?” inquired Mary Louise anxiously.
“No, I don’t,” was the reassuring reply, “even if my husband does!”
“Thank goodness for that!” exclaimed the girl in relief. “Well, I’m going to call on the Adams family this afternoon and find out all I can. I’ll pump Hattie, and old Mr. Adams too.”
“Good luck to you, my dear!” concluded Mrs. Flick.