“What are these?” he asked.
Larry started guiltily.
“Old letters,” he said.
“What you doing with them?” As he spoke Maclin was 162 sorting and arranging the papers––the old he put to one side; the newer ones on the other. Some of the new ones were astonishingly good copies of the old!
“Playing the old game, eh?” Maclin scowled. “I thought you’d had enough of that, after–––”
“For God’s sake, Maclin, shut up.”
“Been carrying these mementos around with you all these years?”
Maclin was reading a letter of Larry’s father––an old one.
“No, I brought them with me from the old house. Mary-Clare had them, but they were mine.” Larry’s face was white and set into hard lines.
“Sure, so I see.” And Maclin was seeing a great deal.