Going over to the table, and drawing a newspaper from one of his pockets, Dexter sat down to read. He did not take off his coat, for the room was chilly.
Dick did not move, nor did he offer to speak. In his present bad plight he would have been glad enough to talk with anything living, even with so despicable a human object as Ab. Dexter.
"But he'd only torment me, and try to scare me, too, probably," thought Dick. "I won't give him any chance that I can help."
It was wholly natural that the boy's obstinate silence, which endured for the next hour, should anger the man.
At last, after having consumed two cigars and read a lot of stuff in the paper in which he was not interested, Dexter rose and stepped over to the boy.
"Having pleasant thoughts, eh?" he demanded.
"Better than yours, I'm sure," retorted the boy dryly.
"Yes; because my thoughts, at least, are clean and honest ones."
"Oh, you little saint!" jeered Ab.