Mrs. Joslyn smiled.
“Yes, he says that,” she observed. “I went over to take back a dish I had borrowed, and he was lying on the lounge, smoking a cigarette. He said he was real sick, but between you and me, Carl, I’m of the opinion he’s just tired of his job, and means to throw it up. He’d rather loaf than work any day.”
Carl breathed more freely. It was of course none of his business what Dock did with himself, though he might think the other was a mean shirk to hang around idle when his people needed every dollar they could scrape up.
“Thank you for telling me this, Mrs. Joslyn,” he said as with his chum he prepared to take his departure; “it relieves my mind in several ways. And please don’t whisper my secret to any one. I still hope to be able to get that paper from Dock sooner or later, if he doesn’t come to terms with Amasa Culpepper.”
“I promise you faithfully Carl,” the little woman told him. “I guess I’m able to hold my tongue, even if they do say my sex never can. And Carl, you must let me know if anything happens to alter conditions, because I’m dreadfully interested. This is the first time in all my life I’ve been connected with a secret.”
“I certainly will let you know, Mrs. Joslyn,” Carl promised.
“And furthermore,” she continued, “if I happen to see Dock doing anything that looks queer or suspicious I’ll get word to you. He might happen to have his hiding-place somewhere around the back yard or the hen house, you know. He may have buried the paper in the garden. I’ll keep an eye on the neighbors while he’s home.”
Tom was chuckling at a great rate as he and Carl went down the street.
“It looks as if you’ve got Mrs. Joslyn a whole lot interested, Carl,” he told the other. “She’s just burning with curiosity to find out something. Every time Dock steps out to feed the chickens she’s going to drop whatever she may be doing, and focus her eyes on him, even if her pork chops burn to black leather.”
“I wonder what he’s meaning to do?” remarked Carl, in a speculative way.