“She’s been busy with other things, I guess,” said he.
“Maybe,” she allowed, with a feeling of resentment against the book on account of its cold, unfriendly owner.
She had almost reached the corridor gate when Joe called after her.
“No, don’t tell her that,” he requested. “Don’t tell her anything. Just hand it back, please, Mother.”
“Whatever you say, Joe.”
Joe heard the steel gate close after her and the sheriff’s voice loud above his mother’s as they went toward the door.
Loyal as he was to his mother, the thought of her went out with her, and in her place stood the slender figure of youth, her lips “like a thread of scarlet.” One day more to wait for the event of his justification and vindication, or at least the beginning of it, thought Joe.
Ah, if Alice only would come to lighten the interval!