"I suppose I did," said Bobby complacently.
At this moment the open hot-air register began to speak, carrying up the voices from the rooms below. As the subject under discussion was the closest to the boys' hearts for the moment, they drew near to listen.
"It's Mr. Kincaid himself!" breathed Bobby.
"I've been trying to catch you all the way up the street," Mr. Kincaid was saying, "but you walk like a steam engine."
"I felt good," explained Mr. Orde. "I knew you were innocent, of course; but it looked dark."
"Yes, it looked dark," admitted Mr. Kincaid. "Where's that youngster of yours? He saved the day."
"I was just going to look for him. There're a few points I'd like to clear up. If he saw all that, why didn't he say something before?"
"Don't know. But he certainly spoke to the point when he did get going. Look here, Orde, I'm proud of that kid. I want you to let me do something; he's old enough now to have a sure enough gun, and I want you to let me give it to him. Stafford has a little shotgun—16 gauge—ever see one?"
"Nothing smaller than a 12" confessed Orde.
"Well, I told him to keep it for me. I'd like to give it to Bobby. He's learned fast, and he's paid attention to what he learned. I don't believe in guns for small boys, but Bobby is careful; he doesn't make any breaks."