“Not lately. Not in the last few days.” HI didn’t know you were taking care of the family of the colored man that got killed in the wreck.”
Jimmie shrugged. His face was bright with color. Underneath were the gray tones of fatigue and the sharp lines of strain. “What of it? Who told you?”
“Heiffler. I’ll—take over—that family.”
“Heiffler? Who the hell is Heiffler?”
“That intern. Came to the bank. He told me a lot of things.” Mr. Bailey sighed heavily. “Explained all about the psychology of Biff’s accident. I must say, I had to admit that I’d thought of it. Remember that evening at dinner? When Sarah accused us both?”
He took out a cigar. “I can see you do. Well, that night I didn’t want to be branded for having such an idea—before the whole family. Made me mad. But Heiffler explained it.
Maybe he’s right. And he told me that you had kept him from sending in a report to the army that Biff was—er—”
“Psychotic. Yeah. I did. He isn’t—any more.”
Mr. Bailey felt for matches and found he had none. He picked a board from the fire and used the hot end. “You know, if I’d discovered, at the time, that you’d done something to spoil Biff’s chances of honorably staying out of the service—I’d have been wild!”
“Wouldn’t have been honorable.”