Len turned and walked out, leaving Baggs to fume over his pipe. Finally the lawyer got to his feet, flung the pipe on the desk and walked down to the bank. Charley Prentice looked up from his work as Baggs leaned against the bank railing.
Prentice was a man about forty years of age, sallow, nervous. He dressed well, as befitted his position.
“You’ve seen Len Ayres?” asked Baggs softly, although only a bookkeeper was in the bank with Prentice.
Prentice glanced toward the door, shaking his head.
“I knew he was back, Amos. Is he bitter? You know what I mean.”
“Bitter?” Amos smiled crookedly. “I suppose he is. Len never was noted for having a charitable disposition, Charley.”
“Say anything about me?”
“Not to me.”
Prentice twisted a pencil nervously between his fingers.
“The kid, Larry, knows he came back, Amos. Some of the kids told him, and he asked me about it. They made fun of him about his dad coming back from prison, but the kid didn’t understand. We never told him about Len.”