"Oh, hang it, I'm not a child to require a nurse," I snapped, for my nerves were worn thin with the situation. "You leave me alone, Cannington, and I'll attend to myself."
"All right old son, don't get your hair off. I believe this murder case has got on your nerves."
"It has," I confessed, very truthfully. "Sorry I spoke like a fractious brat. To make amends I'll let you take the Rippler to town."
"Oh, that will be frabjious," said Cannington, who had lately been reading, "Alice through the Looking-glass." "Won't you come too?"
"Thanks, no. I'm walking out to Mootley this afternoon."
"Huh! I should think you had enough of walking. What's on?"
"Mrs. Caldershaw's funeral."
"They aren't losing much time in planting her," said Cannington, with a shrug. "It's only five days since the death. But I say, old son, don't you think you might give this business a rest? It's getting on your nerves, you know, and isn't good goods at the best."
"Oh, that's all right, I only want to see the last of the poor woman."
"And then?" Cannington's tone was highly suspicious.