You know I been a widower
fer three years."
"I want you to understand one thing, Alf Reesling. A detective never
_knows_ anything till he proves it. Let me warn you, sir, you are under
suspicion. An' now, let me tell you one thing more. Doggone your ornery
hide, don't you ever laugh ag'in like you did jest now er I'll--"
Just then the door flew open with a bang and Edna Crow, Anderson's
eldest, almost flopped into the store, her cap in her hand, eyes
starting from her head. She had run at top speed all the way from home.
"Pop," she gasped. "Ma says fer you to hurry home! She says fer you to
_run_!"
Anderson covered the distance between Lamson's store and his own home in
record time. Indeed, Edna, flying as fast as her slim legs could
twinkle, barely beat her father to the front porch. It was quite clear
to Mr. Crow that something unusual had happened or Mrs. Crow would not
have summoned him so peremptorily.
She was in the hallway downstairs awaiting his arrival, visibly
agitated. Before uttering a word she dragged him into the little
sitting-room and closed the door. They were alone.
"Is it dead?" he panted.
"No, but what do you think, Anderson?" she questioned excitedly.
"I ain't had time to think. You don't mean to say it has begun to talk
an' c'n tell who it is," he faltered.
"Heavens no--an' it only six weeks old.
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