“You don't suppose he has run away, or anything like that, do you?” I asked.
“He wouldn't run far; runnin's too much like work. But why he wan't home for dinner I don't understand. I never knew him to miss a meal's vittles afore. I hope nothin' ain't happened to him, that's all. Well, we'll have our supper, anyhow. After that we'll see.”
But we did not have to see. We were at the table when we heard the sound of hurrying footsteps on the walk. The gate closed with a bang. Dorinda rose from her chair.
“I swan! I believe that's him now!” she exclaimed.
“If it is, he is certainly running this time,” I observed. “What—”
The door was thrown open and the missing member of the household appeared. He was red-faced and panting, but there was a curious air of dignified importance in his bearing. Dorinda's lips shut tightly.
“Well, Lute,” said I, “where have you been?”
Lute struggled for breath.
“Don't ask me where I've been!” he gasped. “Don't waste no time askin' ME questions. Get your hat on, Ros! Get your hat on this minute! Where did I put that? Where in time did I put it?”
He was fumbling in his pockets. Dorinda and I looked at each other. She shook her head.