“Does he mind the shots?” asked Welles, as casually as he could.
“Not at all. I always say that he, though so young, sets an example I find hard to follow. I still flinch, and really rather dread the ordeal.”
Welles looked toward the door at a sudden, slight sound.
Timothy stood there, and he had heard. Again, fear was stamped on his face and terror looked out of his eyes.
“Timothy,” said his grandmother, “don’t stare.”
“Sorry, sir,” the boy managed to say.
“Are your papers all delivered? I did not realize we had been talking for an hour, Dr. Welles. Would you like to see Timothy’s cats?” Mrs. Davis inquired graciously. “Timothy, take Dr. Welles to see your pets. We have had quite a talk about them.”
Welles got Tim out of the room as fast as he could. The boy led the way around the house and into the side yard where the former garage stood.
There the man stopped.
“Tim,” he said, “you don’t have to show me the cats if you don’t want to.”