“I suppose so,” said Dee. “I never thought much about it. She gives us plenty.”
“I thought I smelt something cooking when we were down there tonight,” remarked Fatty. “Made me wonder if she was a good cook.”
“I guess she is all right,” said Dee.
Fatty held his breath, but nothing more was said. No offer to find out what it was, no suggestion that Dee would go get a piece for Fatty. There was nothing, absolutely nothing to do but say good-night and go home; which Fatty did, marvelling at the stupidity of Marion De Lorme.
Dee found his father waiting for him, and as they walked slowly around the little park, Mr. De Lorme asked Dee what he had been doing with himself. Dee told him briefly and then, growing enthusiastic, told his father that six of the neighborhood boys were starting a club. He was about to add that it was a wireless club, but his father interrupted.
“A club, eh?” he snarled disagreeably. “Um! Well, you are about the age to take that disease. All boys want to form a club. Go ahead; but see that you don’t get into mischief.”
“I do not intend to get into any scrapes,” said Dee. “I never have, have I?”
“Not yet,” said Mr. De Lorme. “I just warned you. I am a busy man, an important man and I must not be disturbed.”
“I should think some of the cut-throat looking people who come to the house would disturb you,” said Dee. “A lot of them look like Bolsheviki, and a lot of them like plain tramps.”
Mr. De Lorme was silent for a moment. “You can’t judge a man by his looks, young man. Some day you may be glad to be included in the circle with just such men. The efforts of those very men will be felt as long as the nation stands.”