"
"But, really, I--I don't know what to do," says Waldo. "I--I'm all
upset. Of course, if you insist on the land--"
"That's talkin'!" says I. "My guess is that it won't take long.
Suppose you and Peters go back upstairs. You can leave Tidman, though."
"You--you're sure it is safe?" asks Waldo.
"Look at that grip of Mrs. Flynn's," says I.
After one skittish glance, Waldo does a quick exit. At that, though,
Peters beat him to it.
"Tidman," says I, when they're gone, "we'll step out towards the back a
ways and consult. Hold him a minute longer, Mrs. Flynn."
"I--I don't see why I should be dragged into this," whines Tidman, as I
leads him towards the rear.
"Never mind," says I. "We're goin' to clear this all up right away.
Now, who is he, Tidman? Black-sheep brother, or what?"
Got a jump out of him, that jab did. But he recovers quick.
"Why, he's no relative at all," says Tidman. "I assure you that I
never saw the--"
"Naughty, naughty!" says I. "Didn't I spot that peaked beak of his,
just like yours? That's a fam'ly nose, that is."
"Cousin," admits Tidman, turnin' sulky.
"And sort of a blot on the escutcheon?" I goes on.
Tidman nods.
"Booze or dope?" I asks.
"Both, I think," says Tidman.
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