Serle said, “I’m not talking.”
“Is that the price you had to pay for squaring the rap with the D.A.?” Mason asked.
Serle said, “There isn’t any rap.”
The waitress brought a fruit salad, a plate of delicious meat pie made with tender squares of meat, rich, yellow carrots, new potatoes, walnut-sized onions, and steaming gravy.
“Certainly is fine grub,” Mason said, appreciatively inhaling the aroma of the food.
“Look here,” Serle said, “I’m not supposed to do any talking to anyone, newspapermen or anyone.”
“In return for having that lottery business squared?” Mason asked.
“Quit harping about that,” Serle said irritably. “There isn’t any evidence on the sale of any lottery tickets.”
Mason said, “If you don’t mind, Serle, I’m going to sop this bread in the gravy. Certainly has a wonderful flavor. Are all their dishes this good?”
“They specialize in home cooking. Look here, Mason, you can’t pull this stuff with me.”