“No, to a private boarding home—to a woman named Mrs. Jones,” the social worker replied. “Jack’s a real problem.”
“I’d judge so,” commented Mr. Hatfield.
“He’s restless and unstable. Parents are dead. He’s been under our supervision more or less for three years now.” Mr. Wentworth drew a long breath. “It’s been a job, I’m telling you. Jack always has an itch to run away, and get into trouble.”
“I take it he didn’t look with favor on the idea of being placed in a private home?”
“Jack likes to fend for himself,” the social worker replied. “He hates restriction. That, of course, is what he needs and must have. I’m afraid, despite our efforts, he’ll end up in an industrial school.”
“Think you’ll ever see him again?”
“Oh, the police will pick him up eventually,” Mr. Wentworth said. “They always do. But the question is—what to do with him when he is brought back.”
“Well, I hope you think of something,” the Cub leader returned. “I hate to think of a boy being sent to an industrial school, if he has any good in him.”
“Jack took advantage of me, when my car stalled in this high water. I see you’re stuck too. Maybe I can give you a push.”
Applying his shoulder, the social worker tried to roll the car backward toward higher pavement.