“You’d better tie a string around your finger. Or, better still, around your toe. You’re liable to miss it on your finger, and you stub your toe so often that you can’t miss it there.”
“Aw, take a rest,” and Teddy grinned. “Come on, Roy, we’ll hop in and see dad. Where is he, Mother?”
“In his room. I think it’s about Gus that he wants to talk to you. I’m so sorry that happened, boys! I told your father that he should go more slowly. He was so worked up over Mr. Trummer’s visit that he wasn’t quite himself. I tried to calm him as much as I could, and now I think he regrets that he acted so hastily. But you go in and let him tell you himself.”
Mr. Manley was seated in a chair in his room, with his corncob pipe, unlit, between his teeth. This was always a sign of mental uneasiness with him. When smoke came from the pipe, all was well. When it reposed in his mouth cold and dead, there was usually something up.
“Want us, Dad?” Teddy asked.
“Yes. Want to make talk. Come in. Shut the door. Either one of you see Gus?”
“He’s gone, Dad,” Roy answered. “Teddy, you saw him go, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. He rode away with a bag on his saddle about two hours ago. He owned his own horse, didn’t he, Dad?”
“Yes! Gus came to me with a pony, saddle, and nothin’ else, three years ago. Wanted a job. I gave it to him. So he’s gone, eh?”
“Afraid so, Dad. Didn’t you tell him to clear out?”