What are you in for anyway? the sheriff inquired, as he set down the breakfast tray.
I don't know. I've done nothing.
They all says that, but Jack swears you're innocent, and what Jack says goes with me. Maybe you run over somebody in a car?
I haven't been driving a car.
Well, the laws of California is peculiar. . . . The sheriff scratched his ear and lighted his pipe. . . . You maya done somethin' without knowin' it.
I haven't done anything, Ambrose repeated doggedly, as he sat down to pour out his coffee, unless riding on a milkwagon is against the law.
Ridin' on a milkwagon! The sheriff guffawed. That wouldn't be a crime anywhere else, but maybe in California . . .
Or breaking down vines climbing out of a second-storey window.
Did you climb in first?
I was living there.
Did you take somethin' out with you?
Not even my own bags.
Well, maybe you're crazy, the sheriff suggested, peacefully puffing at his pipe. I shouldn't wonder if that's it. Ridin' on milkwagons and leavin' houses by
