There was nothin' doin', though. I knocks on the door, and calls again. Next I goes in. And say, it wa'n't until I'd pawed over all the clothes, and looked under the bed and into the closet, that I could believe it. He must have got up at daylight, slipped down the back way in his stockin' feet, and skipped. The note on the wash stand clinches it. It was wrote kind of wobbly, and the spellin' was some streaked; but there wa'n't any mistakin' what he meant. He was sorry he had to tell so many whoppers, but he wa'n't ever goin' home any more, and he was much obliged for my tip about the freight car. Maybe my jaw didn't drop.
"Thick head!" says I, catchin' sight of myself in the bureau glass. "You would get humorous!"
When I goes back down stairs I find Mrs. Greene pacin' the porch. "Well?" says she.
I throws up my hands. "Skipped," says I.
"Do you mean to say he has gone?" she snaps.
"That's the size of it," says I.
"Then this is Rutgers's work. Oh, the beast!" and she begins stampin' her foot and bitin' her lips.
"That's where you're off," says I; "this is a case of——"
But just then another big bubble comes dashin' up, with four men in it, and the one that jumps out and joins us is the main stem of the fam'ly. I could see that by the way the lady turns her back on him. He's a clean cut, square jawed young feller, and by the narrow set of his eyes and the sandy colour of his hair you could guess he might be some obstinate when it came to an argument. But he begins calm enough.
"I'm Rutgers Greene," says he, "and at the police station they told me Gerald was here. I'll take charge of him, if you please."