“Of course, I haven’t!” he ventured recklessly. “Though I don’t know what in the world you’re driving at!”
The mother wiped her eyes, and swallowed hard.
“A policeman—was trying to find you. He didn’t come up here, for Granny told him you weren’t home. He said you were wanted at the police station ‘right away’! He didn’t know what the trouble was, or he wouldn’t tell. You gave back the whistle, didn’t you?”
“Sure! Why, mother, don’t you worry! I haven’t done anything except what Tom Fitzpatrick told me to! It may be the Sweeneys are makin’ a fuss about the bird,” he mused; “but if they are Tom’ll back me up all right. Now do stop cryin’!”
“You must go right off!”
“Well, I’m goin’! But I wish you wouldn’t act as if I’d stole a bank or shot the President! I tell you, there ain’t anything to cry for—you’re nervous! Poor little mother!” He kissed her, a most unusual attention for him, and then dashed away and downstairs.
But Mrs. Stickney darted after, calling him back.
He came with reluctance.
“What do you want? You mustn’t hinder me,” he objected.
“Tell the truth, Blue!” She picked a thread from his sleeve, and straightened his necktie with motherly care. “Whatever they ask you, tell them the whole truth!”