He kind of laughed and he said, “Well, you youngsters want to be careful and tell the truth or Chief O’Day will have the whole lot of you in the lockup.”
“Is that so?” I said, kind of mad. “If I couldn’t find out who did a thing any better than he does I’d get a job as commander-in-chief of a kindergarten. He’s a regular Sherlock Nobody Holmes.”
“He’ll put young Slausen where he belongs,” Mr. Dallman said; “he sees through this whole business.”
“Oh, sure,” I said, “he sees so fine that he can’t even see three hundred dollars right under his feet. Good night, I’m going home.”
I guess it was about nine o’clock when I got to the house. I was kind of anxious because I didn’t know what to say about where I had been to supper. There wasn’t anybody around and I was just starting upstairs when I heard my father call me. I went down again and I saw him in the library. He was sitting there in the dark. I felt awful funny, kind of, because it seemed as if he was feeling bad. I kind of knew it was on account of me. He was just sitting in the big leather chair by the library table. He was smoking a cigar and the light in that cigar was all the light there was.
He said, “You’ve been at Westy’s, I suppose?” Because I often stay there Sunday nights to tea.
I said, “I had supper with Westy.” And right away I was kind of sorry because it was true the way I meant it but it wasn’t true the way he meant it.
I said, “Where’s Mamsy and Marjorie?” (That’s what I call my mother—Mamsy.)
He said, “They went to church and then to some meeting. Sit down, Roy.”
Then he didn’t speak for about a minute. The big clock out in the hall sounded awful loud.