We saw he was trying to edge around to the door, so Westy stood there so he couldn’t get out. It was awful dark and damp in there. There were spider-webs all around inside, and you could smell the earth. I lifted up the board he had been lying on and there were all worms under it and slugs that went scooting around.
I said, “What are you doing here? Where did you come from, anyway?”
He said, “If you don’t tell them, if you don’t take me back I’ll—I’ll give you—as much as a thousand dollars.”
I said, “Thanks. You haven’t got it with you, have you?”
“I’m—I’m going to get it,” he said. “If you tell—if you take me back—you’ll only get three hundred dollars.”
I said, “Three hundred dollars is nothing. I wouldn’t take you back for less than five thousand including the war tax. We accept your proposition. Now tell us where you came from. You don’t belong in Bridgeboro?”
Poor little kid, he was so scared he was trembling all over. “If I tell you, you’ll take me back,” he said. He looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. Gee whiz, I guess he was right.
Westy said, “You came from some home or other?”
“Are you going to tell?” the kid asked us, good and scared.
“What home?” Westy asked him. “The Boys’ Home up in Willisville?”