Peter sighed, put the six little books away and locked the drawer.
Locked it with sudden swiftness and caution, for Hy Lowe just then burst in the outer door and dove, humming a one-step, into the bedroom.
Peter, pocketing the keys carefully so that they would not jingle, put on a casual front and followed him there.
Hy, still in overcoat and hat, was gazing with rapt eyes at a snap-shot of two girls. He laughed a little, self-consciously, at the sight of Peter and set the picture against the mirror on his side of the bureau.
There were other pictures stuck about Hy's end of the mirror; all of girls and not all discreet. One of these, pushed aside to make room for the new one, fell to the floor. Hy let it lie.
Peter leaned ever and peered at the snap-shot. He recognized the two girls as Betty Deane and Sue Wilde.
“Look here,” said Peter, “where have you been?”
“Having a dish of tea.”
“Don't you ever work?”
“Since friend Betty turned up, my son, I'm wondering if I ever shall.”