"No, he didn't. What do you mean? Away where? How long?"
"Why, er—working."
"Sketching?—in this storm? Nonsense, Susan! Besides, he'd have taken me. He always took me. Susan, what's the matter? Where IS dad?" A note of uncertainty, almost fear, had crept into the boy's voice. "You're keeping—SOMETHING from me."
Susan caught her breath and threw a swift look into Keith's unseeing eyes. Then she laughed, hysterically, a bit noisily.
"Keepin' somethin' from you? Why, sure we ain't, boy! Didn't I jest tell you? He's workin' down to McGuire's."
"WORKING! Down to MCGUIRE'S!" Keith plainly did not yet understand.
"Sure! An' he's got a real good position, too." Susan spoke jauntily, enthusiastically.
"But the McGuires never buy pictures," frowned Keith, "or want—" He stopped short. Face, voice, and manner underwent a complete change. "Susan, you don't mean that dad is CLERKING down there behind that grocery counter!"
Susan saw and recognized the utter horror and dismay in Keith's lace, and quailed before it. But she managed in some way to keep her voice still triumphant.
"Sure he is! An' he gets real good wages, too, an'—" But Keith with a low cry had gone.