“He sure did.”
“Worried about her, I suppose!”
“He's worried, all right.”
“Humph!” said Peter.
He said nothing more. At the rooms, He partly undressed in silence. Now and again his long face worked in mute expression of conflicting emotions within. Suddenly he stopped undressing and went into the studio (he slept in there, on the couch) and sat by the window, peering out at the sights of the Square.
Hy watched him curiously; then called out a good night, turned off the gas and tumbled into bed. His final remark, the cheery observation—“I'll tell you this much, my son. Friend Betty is some pippin!” drew forth no response.
CHAPTER IV—A LITTLE JOURNEY IN PARANOIA
HALF an hour later Peter tiptoed over and closed the door. Then he sat down at his typewriter, removed the paper he had left in it, put in a new sheet and struck off a word.