“I wonder why the child don’t come home?” said Mrs. Stockwell.
“Oh, he’ll be home all right. I’m going to send for him. I knew you would worry about him again, so I told ’em to tell him you wanted to see him.”
“Cyrus,” added his wife, “I don’t think you’re treatin’ Bud right. He’s a good boy if he has half a chance.”
“Well,” retorted the lawyer, “you can treat him well to-night by keepin’ him in after he gets here. I’m goin’ out to the fair-ground to-night with a deputy sheriff and levy on the aeroplane that’s turned his head. We got a writ of replevin this afternoon and a deputy sheriff is goin’ to take the machine for Mr. Dare, who’s out on the front porch. If Bud gets in the way or interferes, he’ll be locked up for his pains.”
“Lands sakes, Cyrus, Bud ain’t done no crime, has he?”
“No, but he’s made a fool of himself. And he’s tryin’ to make one o’ me. I’m goin’ up town now for a while, and I reckon I’ll be home ’bout midnight. You keep Bud here when he comes.”
“I’ll lock him in his room,” exclaimed Mrs. Stockwell nervously.
As the two passed into the kitchen, Bud slipped down onto the arbor, recovered his shoes, glanced into the empty kitchen, reached into the window and captured a generous slice of jelly cake from a near-by table, and was off down the garden path.