"Awful quick, if it is." He went to the door, opened it, stared down at
the man who was just raising a hand to knock.
"Are you Mr. Graham?" asked the man.
"Yes." He found himself staring at the caller.
"I'm Clint Rush. You called about the house?" The man moved farther into
the light. At first, he'd appeared an old man, fine wrinkle lines in his
face, a tired leather look to his skin. But as he moved his head in the
light, the wrinkles seemed to dissolve--and with them, the years lifted
from him.
"Yes, we called," said Ted Graham. He stood aside. "Do you want to look
at the trailer now?"
Martha Graham crossed to stand beside her husband. "We've kept it in
awfully good shape," she said. "We've never let anything get seriously
wrong with it."
_She sounds too anxious_, thought Ted Graham. _I wish she'd let me do
the talking for the two of us._
"We can come back and look at your trailer tomorrow in daylight," said
Rush. "My car's right out here, if you'd like to see our house."
Ted Graham hesitated. He felt a nagging worry tug at his mind, tried to
fix his attention on what bothered him.
"Hadn't we better take our car?" he asked. "We could follow you."
"No need," said Rush. "We're coming back into town tonight anyway. We
can drop you off then."