Toby made no response. He was wondering what Frank would say if he was told that he was the reason of the quarrel. Frank varied his performance on the radiator by tapping the coils and looked hurt when they all developed about the same notes.
“You know Tommy Lingard, don’t you?” asked Toby suddenly.
Frank nodded without looking up, continuing his hopeless search for music. “Yes, I know Tommy after a fashion. What about him?”
“Nothing. He said one time that he knew you pretty well.”
“He will say anything, the little rotter,” replied Frank cheerfully. “Tommy’s one of the finest little impromptu, catch-as-catch-can liars in school. Still, he managed to tell the truth for once. My folks know his folks at home. They live on the same street with us. His old man’s a nice old sort. Has a heap of money. Made it easy, too.”
“Did he?” asked Toby. “How?”
“Just by cutting-up.”
“Cutting-up? How do you mean?”
“He was a butcher,” laughed Frank. “I spring that one on Tommy when he gets too fresh. He’s a beast of a nuisance, that kid. Always wanting to borrow money from me. He has plenty of his own, but he spends it on candy and truck like that and is always broke. Well, here we go! What do you have this hour?”