“Mercy on us, what you doin’ here?” Aunt Mira gasped. “Westy! You near skeered the life out of me!”
“MERCY ON US, WHAT YOU DOIN’ HERE?” GASPED AUNT MIRA.
Ira removed his atrocious pipe from his mouth long enough to inquire without the least sign of shock. “What’s the matter, kid? Get lost in the woods and missed your train?”
“No, I didn’t get lost in the woods,” said Westy, with a touch of testiness.
“Land’s sake, Iry, why can’t you never stop plaguin’ the boy,” said Aunt Mira.
“I came back,” said Westy rather clumsily. “I came back to tell you something. I’ve got something I want to tell you because I—because I want to be the one to tell you——”
“You lost your money,” interrupted Aunt Mira. “I told your uncle he should have made you a check.”
“Scouts and them kind don’t carry no checks,” said Ira.
“I came back,” said Westy, “because I want to tell you that I shot a deer in the woods and killed him. It’s true so you needn’t ask me any questions about it because—because I shot him because I had good reasons—anyway, because I wanted to, so there’s no good talking about it.”