He said, “You’ve been at Westy’s, I suppose?” Because I often stay there Sunday nights to tea.
I said, “I had supper with Westy.” And right away I was kind of sorry because it was true the way I meant it but it wasn’t true the way _he_ meant it.
I said, “Where’s Mamsy and Marjorie?” (That’s what I call my mother—Mamsy.)
He said, “They went to church and then to some meeting. Sit down, Roy.”
Then he didn’t speak for about a minute. The big clock out in the hall sounded awful loud.
I didn’t know what to say so I said, “Are you waiting for them?”
He said, “No, I was waiting for you, Roy. I wanted to speak to you.” Then he said how I never made him worry any but how he had been worrying that day. He said, “I was hoping you would be here to take a little stroll this afternoon.”
I said, “I was helping clear up—at Slausens.” Lots of times I go for a walk with him Sundays, because he doesn’t care about the machines.
Then he said how he had been worrying a lot because nobody belonging to him had ever been arrested. He said that morning was the first time he had ever seen inside the police station and it made him feel ashamed. He said, “You know you’re under arrest, you and Westy, just the same as if you were in a cell.” He said, “You understand that, don’t you, Roy?”
He said, “It’s only because I’m a rich man and they know who I am and trust me that you have been free to-day. The same with Westy.” He said, “I would rather have bought Mr. Slausen’s shop, I would rather have bought the whole field from Mr. Downing, than to think that you——”
“You don’t think that, do you?” I asked him.
He said, “I do not, Roy. I would rather have thrown up a bungalow for you scouts down by the river than to think so. And you know I would have done it, too, gladly. No son of mine needs to burn down property——”
I said, “Then why do you talk about it?” I just started to cry, I couldn’t help it. “It isn’t a question of needing to,” I said. “We wouldn’t do it, anyway—we wouldn’t.”
He said, “I’m glad to hear you say that, Roy.”
“Mr. Ellsworth knows we wouldn’t,” I said. “Fellows that have good names don’t need to worry,” I told him. “They’re safe. It’s only in crazy stories that scouts get suspected of committing crimes and things. We should worry. It’s the people that haven’t got good names that have to look out. Suppose I told you a lie once, then you’d think I was telling you one now, and that wouldn’t be fair.”