‘Do you intend to stay in this country?’ asked Sleepy.
‘Do you mean always?’ Rex shook his head slowly. ‘No, I—well, I don’t really know. Do you know, everything has been more or less like a dream since my mother died. I have been jerked around so badly that I hardly know what to do next. I realize that I shouldn’t be here, sponging, I believe you’d call it, on the Lane family. But I just simply don’t know what to do.’
‘Didn’t you ever have a job?’ asked Hashknife.
Rex pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment.
‘Yes, I did. I believe it lasted less than an hour. Mr. Weed, a grocer, employed me as a driver for one of his delivery wagons, but I tried to outrun a fire department.’
‘And didn’t make it?’ smiled Hashknife.
‘Oh, but I did! But when I was forced to stop, I—I threw out the anchor, and——’
‘Uh-huh!’ snorted Sleepy. ‘That’s what Bunty Smith said.’
‘Threw out the anchor?’ queried Hashknife.
‘That is what one of the men called it. It was a heavy weight which they have fastened to the horses, and when you make a delivery you leave it on the ground. It prevents the horses from running away, don’t you see?’