He waited in the house, gloomily turning the pages of the local newspaper, searching for references to Armagon. He found nothing.
At eleven-thirty, a brown-faced State Trooper came to call, and Sol told his story. He was promised nothing, and told to stay in town until he was contacted again by the authorities.
Mom fixed him a light lunch, the greatest feature of which was some hot biscuits she plucked out of the oven. It made him feel almost normal.
He wandered around the town some more after lunch, trying to spark conversation with the residents.
He learned little.
At five-thirty, he returned to the Dawes house, and was promptly leaped upon by little Sally.
"Hi! Hi! Hi!" she said, clutching his right leg and almost toppling him over. "We had a party in school. I had chocolate cake. You goin' to stay with us?"
"Just another night," Sol told her, trying to shake the girl off. "If it's okay with your folks. They haven't found my car yet."
"Sally!" Mom was peering out of the screen door. "You let Mr. Becker alone and go wash. Your Pa will be home soon."