VIII
The Inger stepped in front of Lory, and, before the others turned, wheeled to face her.
“Go get your aunt here,” he said, under his voice, and, as she retreated, closed the passage door upon her. Then he turned to the room.
“Well, Dad!” he cried. “Well, Bunchy! Better have another stick or two on the fire, hadn’t we?” he offered.
While the Inger followed his own suggestion, Bunchy watched him, lowering. But the Inger’s father began to talk.
“Bunchy was comin’ along here—he was comin’ along,” he explained, “so I thought I’d come along too. I thought I better come along too—”
His son glanced at him keenly, wondering at his uncertain manner. As the stove door closed, the Inger inquired with perfect interest:
“How’d you find the place—go to Chicago?”