“Well, he’s in no danger now,” said Mr. Baxter. “And what’s more, he never was in any danger of being hung. That gypsy woman lied.”
“That’s what I said at the time. Didn’t I tell you what a darned fool you were?”
“How’s my boy, and where is he? I telephoned him three times to-night but the doggoned system’s always out of order. Couldn’t get any answer.”
“He’s over in Rumley,” said Mr. Gooch shortly. “I guess he’s all right. Leastwise he was up to this evening.”
“That’s good. By glory, I’ll be glad to see him. I’ve got some great news for him. Took me over a year to get it and cost me a lot of money, but it was worth it. My mind is at rest. Say, do you know I’ve been from one end of this country to the other? On the go every minute of the time. It wasn’t till about a month ago that I run across the right band.”
“Band?”
“Yep. Band. Struck ’em over in eastern Ohio. I guess I must have tracked down seventy-five or a hundred bands before I got the right one.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Gypsies,” said Mr. Baxter briefly, holding his gnarled red hands out to the fire. “You said something about coffee, Horace.”
Mr. Gooch eyed him fearfully for a few moments.