lence. “We ’ll have to get that off with a file,” he remarked of Barney’s handcuff, as he helped to roll up the sleeves of the dressing gown. He brought a pair of bath slippers. “That ’s the best we can do.”
Barney said nothing. His mind was as busy as a hive of bees, and the swarming activity of his thoughts showed in his face. Whately was enjoying his own superiority in deception; he talked with an easy naturalness, smiling inwardly at Barney’s bewilderment. He could imagine what the boy was thinking. “Ready?” he asked, when Barney was washed and dressed and bandaged.
Barney nodded. “I guess I was struck by lightnin’,” he volunteered.
“Were you?” Whately replied cheerfully. “Tell us about it downstairs. Are n’t you hungry?”
“Gee!” Barney sighed. “Hungry!”
“Come along then.”
They came downstairs to the living room together, and Mary Langton included them both
