CHAPTER 11
WHEN GLENN ROGERS LEFT GAYLORD's car and walked towards his house, he was confronted with the grim realization that he was very late. If his father had had to milk, durn, he'd certainly be in a bad mood.
Sheepishly, he looked around the side of the house toward the barn, but his father was not in sight. Maybe he had gone to town. His anxious glance fell on his mother who had just opened the back screen door.
"I'm sorry I'm so late, Mom. Did Dad milk? I didn't realize what time it was … Did you say Dad milked?"
"No, dear." His mother smiled. "I did. Dad had to go back to the farm about four o'clock and he hasn't come in. Come on and eat your supper. I've left everything on the table. I was beginning to worry about you. Where did you say you've been?"
"Gay and I went for a ride," he said. "Gosh, Mom, he's got a keen car. Did you see it?"
"Yes, I saw it. It is a beautiful car, but honey, from now on don't stay so late. Your father …"
"I won't, Mother. I'm sorry you had to milk."
"It's all right, dear."
They both went to the kitchen and Rogers tardily seated himself at the oilcloth-covered table. The supper was strictly a one-dish affair, a solid working man's meal with no fancy trimmings or nonsense about it. And usually when Glenn Rogers sat down at the table he ate heartily, but this evening his appetite was gone.
He raised the top of a large dish, replaced it without disturbing
