“Because I was listening from the other side—from the hall! Soon’s the lawyer arrived, Gramps began demanding a lot more money for the property than the Seaway wanted to give, and they argued about that for a while and then Mr. Evans left. I’m telling you all this because I know you’re going to ask me anyway.”
Ronnie nodded. “Sure I want to know about it. Where’s Dad?”
“Out in the barn, I think.”
Ronnie turned and headed for the kitchen, where he was met with a frown from Mrs. Butler, who did the housework and prepared the meals for the Rorths.
Mrs. Butler was a huge woman with a heavy-set jaw and a sharp, straight nose and piercing eyes that darted rapidly from one place to another.
“Now don’t you be running off somewhere!” she warned Ronnie. “Supper’s nearly ready to serve up, and if it’s like usual I’ll have to hunt the four corners of the farm to find everyone.”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean no ma’am.”
“If you’re going out back, take a look at the gas tank for me, will you? I don’t think it’s been exchanged in a month.”
The indicator showed the tank to be almost half-full. Ronnie passed this information on to Mrs. Butler and then hurried toward the barn, chasing a dozen chickens out of his path.
His father was sitting on the homemade, bicycle-propelled grindstone sharpening one of the blades to his haymower. He didn’t look up from his work as Ronnie came to a stop at his side and stood watching him.