“My name’s Chew,” we heard him give out importantly in front of Mrs. Doane. “I guess you know who my father is, for he was here yesterday.”
“Yes,” says the little old lady calmly, “I know a great deal about your father. And I knew your grandfather, too, whom you resemble, in your actions, a great deal more than you probably realize.”
But fatty didn’t get that.
“My father has me help him, so that I can learn the business,” came importantly. “And he sent me over here to lock up this place, and see that it is kept locked up.”
“Was he afraid to come himself?”
“Afraid? Of you?” and the fat smart aleck gave the meanest laugh you can imagine. Boy, he sure was trying to act hard-boiled! “No,” came the further strut, “he wasn’t afraid. He had other business that was more important.... You’ve got just ten minutes to get your stuff packed. And if you aren’t ready to beat it then, the sheriff here will do a clever little trick to help you along. Savvy?”
This brought the man forward.
“The boy’s a bit blunt, ma’am,” came in a not unkindly voice. “Yet he has stated the case correctly. Unless you promptly leave here of your own accord, I’ll have to serve the papers on you that were given to me for that purpose.”
“I suppose,” says Mrs. Doane stiffly, “that in planning to move us out of here, you even brought along an ambulance stretcher.”
“An ambulance stretcher? What for?”