Sam Bates shuffled his feet and looked dubiously at the floor.
"Well, I have and I haven't, you might say," he observed. "I did see your father quite a few days ago, but where he is now, I couldn't tell you, for I don't know." Sam was evidently not a man of gigantic intellect. He spoke slowly and painstakingly and his most obvious statements were delivered with the gravity suitable to pearls of wisdom.
"Where did you see him?"
"I'm a truck driver, see?"
"Yes, you told us that," said Frank impatiently. "But where did you see our father?"
Sam Bates was not to be hurried. He had a story to tell and he was bound to tell it.
"I'm a truck driver, see?" he repeated. "Mostly I drive just in and around Bayport, but sometimes they give me a run out to some of them villages. That's how I come to be out there that morning."
"Out where?"
"I'm comin' to that. I just forget what day it was, but I think it was about a week from last Monday. I know it was just after Sunday because when I went home to dinner that day the wife was washin' clothes and dinner was late and I had to eat it out on the back steps anyway for the kitchen was all in a mess. You know how it is on wash day."
