"Tump Pack's been arrested," explained Peter, quickly, sensing the
tragedy in her thoughts. "I came by to tell you. If there's anything I
can do for you--or him, I'll do it."
His altruistic offer sounded rather foolish in the actual saying.
He could not tell from her face whether she was glad or sorry.
"What did they arrest him for?"
"Carrying a pistol."
She paused a moment.
"Will he--get out soon?"
"He's sentenced for thirty days."
Cissie dropped her hands with a hopeless gesture.
"Oh, isn't this all sickening!--sickening!" she exclaimed. She looked
tired. Ghosts of sleepless nights circled her eyes. Suddenly she said,
"Come in. Oh, do come in, Peter." She reached out and almost pulled him
in. She was so urgent that Peter might have fancied Tump Pack at the
gate with his automatic. He did glance around, but saw nobody passing
except the Arkwright boy. The hobbledehoy walked down the other side of
the street, hands thrust in pockets, with the usual discontented
expression on his face.
Cissie slammed the door shut, and the two stood rather at a loss in the
sudden gloom of the hall.
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