When she looked up again she noticed a man walking by—except he turned up the walk and crossed the lawn to her.
He was a little taller than her husband, had piercing blue eyes and a rather amused set to his lips.
"Hello, Nancy," he said.
"Hello, Joe," she answered. It was her brother who lived in Kankakee.
"I'm going to take the baby for a while," he said.
"All right, Joe."
He reached into the pen, picked up the baby. As he did so the baby's knees hit the side of the play pen and young Laughton let out a scream—half from hurt and half from sudden lack of confidence in his new handler. But this did not deter Joe. He started off with the child.
Around the corner and after the man came a snarling mongrel dog, eyes bright, teeth glinting in the sunlight. The man did not turn as the dog threw himself at him, burying his teeth in his leg. Surprised, the man dropped the screaming child on the lawn and turned to the dog. Joe seemed off balance and he backed up confusedly in the face of the snapping jaws. Then he suddenly turned and walked away, the dog at his heels.
"I tell you, the man said he was my brother and he made me think he was," Nancy told her husband for the tenth time. "I don't even have a brother."
Martin Laughton sighed. "I can't understand why you believed him. It's just—just plain nuts, Nancy!"