What it was no one learned, for just then the front doorbell rang.
“That must be Midge,” Brad said. “Or maybe the police.”
But it was neither.
Instead, when Mr. Hatfield went to the door he found Edgar Brakschmidt standing there, hat in hand.
The Cub leader knew the man only slightly, having seen him occasionally at church services.
“I beg your pardon—you’re Mr. Hatfield,” the visitor asked.
“Yes, I am.” The Cub leader moved aside so that the man might enter. “Come on in. We’re having a Cub meeting.”
“Oh, I don’t want to break it up,” the visitor apologized. “Nevertheless, the matter I came to talk about happens to concern the Cubs.” Mr. Brakschmidt laughed self-consciously.
“They haven’t been in any mischief, I trust.”
“Oh, no! Nothing like that. May I speak with you in private, Mr. Hatfield?”