"So?"
Ted toyed with a single pork chop, one potato, and almost gagged. He
took a drink of hot coffee and found it stimulating. Tammie, lying on
the bearskin, looked questioningly at his master. Loring Blade pushed
his plate back.
"I'm full. Told you you cooked far too much."
"No harm's done."
"We'll help you clean up."
"Right nice of you."
Al put the uneaten pork chops, a great pile of them, in two covered
dishes and placed them in the refrigerator. He covered the kettle of
potatoes and left them on the table, and put the biscuits in the
breadbox. Ted washed the dishes and Loring Blade dried them.
While he worked Ted brought some order to his scattered thoughts. His
father was in trouble, serious trouble, and nothing mattered now except
getting him out. That meant the services of a skilled attorney and they
had little money. But he could sell the camp for at least as much as it
had cost and probably he could get a job in Lorton. Ted washed the last
plate and Loring Blade dried it. There was an uneasy interval during
which nobody did or said anything because nobody knew what to do or say.