“Why, I’m—was going to take him up there this afternoon for the first treatment!”
“I know! It’s a shame! But it’s lucky you haven’t thrown away any five dollars!”
“Are you sure he ain’t all right?” Blue scowled. “Why he was in the French army, and he wears epaulets!”
The policeman gave a short laugh.
“I’m not saying he isn’t all right, am I? I’m telling you to let him alone, and not to breathe a syllable outside—that’s all!”
“It’s too bad!” Blue’s forehead puckered into deep lines and ridges.
“It is that!” agreed the officer, shaking his head sorrowfully, thinking of Doodles.
The boy went home in a frenzy. What should he tell his brother? How would he take it?
“Blue Stickney! where have you been? What makes you so late? Did you have to stay after school? Where’s Joseph?” The eager questions popped out in a breath.
“We ain’t goin’!” Blue threw his cap on the floor, and himself into the rocker.