“What do you mean? Queer?”
“Yes, if I sent to her and she knew I was locked up at the station, she’d come running down here in a dreadful fright and be having fits or something.”
“But she’ll be horribly frightened now!”
“Not so much frightened. She’ll think we’ve gone to see something, or been asked out to supper.”
“But she’ll sit up.”
“That won’t matter, because she’s sure to go to sleep.”
So no message was sent—no opportunity afforded of our having bail; but after a time this did not trouble us much. In fact, as we were discussing our future in a low tone, wondering what punishment would be meted out to us, and what we could do afterwards, Esau burst into a fit of laughter.
“It was fine,” he said, as he sat afterwards wiping his eyes. “And you such a quiet, patient fellow!”
“What was fine?”
“To see you go on as you did. I say, I wonder what he’ll say to the judge?”