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Updated: May 18, 2025
Brenner turned to him in wild gratitude. "You believe me, don't you?" she cried. The tears dribbled down her face. She saw the balance turning on a hair. A moment more and it might swing back. She turned and hobbled swiftly to the shelf. Proof! More proof! She must bring more proof of Tobey's innocence! She snatched up his box of butterflies and came back to Munn.
Bugwug, that's Tobey's grandfather, lives in Harlem all by himself, because he says there's too much noise and talking in our flat, and I dare say there is, though I don't notice it." "In Harlem, eh? When did you first hear that you had an interest in the Bugwug estates?"
Tobey shook his head. "I dunno," he repeated his feeble denial. Munn advanced. "No use, Mrs. Brenner, you see. Tobey, you'll have to come along with us." Even to Tobey's brain some of the strain in the atmosphere must have penetrated, for he drew back. "Naw," he protested sulkily, "I don't want to." Dick Roamer stepped to his side. He laid his hand on Tobey's arm. "Come along," he urged. Mrs.
"You old screech-owl!" she cried. She wiped her hand quickly on her dirty apron, and held it up again to see the cut. But there was no cut on her hand! Where had that blood come from? From Tobey's shoes? And who was it that had screamed on the hill? She felt herself enwrapped in a mist of puzzling doubts. She snatched up the shoes, searching them with agonized eyes.
No jedge would sentence him like a regular criminal. The most that'll happen will be to put him some safe place where he can't do himself nor no one else any more harm." But still Mrs. Brenner's set expression did not change. After a moment she shook off his aiding arm and moved slowly to Tobey's door.
"Give me your shoes and I'll get the mud off." Her husband shook his head. He was still smiling. "Don't need to dry 'em. I'll put 'em away," he replied, and, still tracking his wet mud, he went into Tobey's room. Her fear flowed into another channel. She dreaded her husband in his black rages, but she feared him more now in his unusual amiability. Perhaps he would strike Tobey when he saw him.
No jedge would sentence him like a regular criminal. The most that'll happen will be to put him some safe place where he can't do himself nor no one else any more harm." But still Mrs. Brenner's set expression did not change. After a moment she shook off his aiding arm and moved slowly to Tobey's door.
"Give me your shoes and I'll get the mud off." Her husband shook his head. He was still smiling. "Don't need to dry 'em. I'll put 'em away," he replied, and, still tracking his wet mud, he went into Tobey's room. Her fear flowed into another channel. She dreaded her husband in his black rages, but she feared him more now in his unusual amiability. Perhaps he would strike Tobey when he saw him.
Then with deliberation he raised his clinched fist and thrust it forcibly against Mr. Tobey's eye, repeating the impact upon his nose, his chin and his cheek in a succession of jarring thumps that were delivered with scientific precision. Algy fairly howled, kicking and struggling to be free.
Dripping! Olga! Blood!" "But the road to the beach begins there too," Mrs. Brenner cried, above the cracked voice, "and Tobey saw his pa before he came home. He said he did. I tell you, Mart was on the hill. He put on Tobey's shoes. Before God I'm telling you the truth." Dick Roamer spoke hesitatingly, "Mebbe the old woman's right, Munn. Mebbe those tracks are Brenner's." Mrs.
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