We take a train for Richmond at nine A. M."
David's patience gave out. "What does it all mean, Dick? I must know
at once. It must be important or you wouldn't--"
"Maybe it's important and maybe it ain't," philosophized Dick,
relighting the long pipe.
"Well, let's have it."
"Tom Braddock's out."
"Out? I don't understand."
Dick's surprise was genuine. "You don't mean to say you never heard
what happened to him?"
"Joey wrote me that he had gone completely to the dogs in Chicago."
"Joey's off his nut. Brad's just out of Sing Sing."
"Sing Sing! The penitentiary?"
"The sure-enough cooler. He's been there for nearly three years."
"Christine's father a convict!" groaned David.
"As I said before, he's out. It may interest you to know that I spent
a year's vacation up there in '78. I needed the rest, old chap. Brad
came in shortly after I got settled. He _had_ been in Chicago for
two years, boning his friends and living like a gutter-snipe. We spent
most of our evenings at Sing Sing on the same piazza. During the day
we sauntered back and forth between our apartments and the academy for
physical research.
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