Wrenn would room here
no more. She galloped up-stairs and screeched over her mother's
shoulder:
"You will pick on a lady, will you, you drunken scum--you--you
cads--I'll have you arrested so quick you--"
"Look here, lady," said Tom, gently. "I'm a plain-clothes man,
a detective." His large voice purred like a tiger-tabby's. "I
don't want to run you in, but I will if you don't get out of
here and shut that door. Or you might go down and call the cop
on this block. He'll run you in--for breaking Code 2762 of the
Penal Law! Trespass and flotsam--that's what it is!"
Uneasy, frightened, then horrified, Mrs. Zapp swung bulkily
about and slammed the door.
Sick, guilty, banished from home though he felt, Mr. Wrenn's
voice quavered, with an attempt at dignity:
"I'm awful sorry she butted in while you fellows was here.
I don't know how to apologize"
"Forget it, old man," rolled out Tom's bass. "Come on, let's go
up to Mrs. Arty's."
"But, gee! it's nearly a quarter to eleven."
"That's all right.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313