“Freddy,” she interrupted loudly, with her nose high, “is going to have his supper and go to bed his regular time, and that’s about all Freddy. Now, what did you want?”

He said, “I want you to let me take the boy to my apartment for the night.”

“I couldn’t do that!” She was scandalized.

“The Judge will vouch . . .”

“Now, see here, Mr. what’syourname—Russell. This isn’t my house and Freddy’s not my boy. I’m responsible to Mr. and Mrs. Titus. You’re a stranger to me. As far as I can see, Freddy is no business of yours whatsoever.”

“Which is his room?” asked Mike sharply.

“Why do you want to know?” She was hostile and suspicious.

“Where does he keep his B.B. gun?”

She was startled to an answer. “In the shed out back. Why?”

He told her.

“Kid’s talk,” she scoffed. “You don’t know much about kids, do you, young man? Freddy will go to sleep. First thing he’ll know, it’s morning. That’s about the size of it.”

“You may be right. I hope so.”

Mrs. Somers slapped potatoes into the pan. Her lips quivered indignantly. She felt annoyed because she was a little shaken. The strange young man really had hoped so.

Russell scanned the street, went across to Matlin’s house. The man himself answered the bell. The air in this house was stale, and bore the faint smell of old grease. There was over everything an atmosphere of struggle and despair. Many things ought to have been repaired and had not been repaired. The place was too big. There wasn’t enough money, or strength. It was too much.

Mrs. Matlin could not walk. Otherwise, one saw, she struggled and did the best she could. She had a lost look, as if some anxiety, ever present, took about nine-tenths of her attention. May Matlin limped in and sat down, lumpishly.

Russell began earnestly, “Mr. Matlin, I don’t know how this situation between you and the boys began. I can guess that the kids are much to blame. I imagine they enjoy it.” He smiled. He wanted to be sympathetic toward this man.

“Of course they enjoy it.” Matlin looked triumphant.

“They call me The Witch,” the girl said. “Pretend they’re scared of me. The devils. I’m scared of them.”

Matlin flicked a nervous eye at the woman in the wheelchair. “The truth is, Mr. Russell,” he said in his high whine, “they’re vicious.”

“It’s too bad,” said his wife in a low voice. “I think it’s dangerous.”

“Mama, you mustn’t worry,” said the girl in an entirely new tone. “I won’t let them hurt you. Nobody will hurt you.”

“Be quiet, May,” said Matlin. “You’ll upset her. Of course nobody will hurt her.”

“Yes, it is dangerous, Mrs. Matlin,” said Russell quietly. “That’s why I came over.”