“Don't tell me, Tommy,” interrupted Mr. Thompson, quickly. His face was serious. He continued, “You and Bill work at it at home?”
“Yes, sir. That is, he works and I look on.”
“Quite right!” And Thompson relapsed into silence.
Could it be that Thompson spied on them? Tommy almost blushed with self-anger at the suspicion. This man was a wonder, that was all. He didn't have to be a crook. If he wished to be, what defense could avail against him? Moreover, he couldn't be a crook, that was all.
Tommy drove him to the works. Mr. Thompson, without a word, got out. At the door of the office he turned, faced Tommy, and said:
“That's your car.”
“I—I—don't understand—”
“Your car.”
“Oh, Mr. Thompson, I can't—”
“Yes, you can, in my garage. Plenty of room.”