Custom had, to a certain extent, inured him to these painful
interviews, but still, if it was possible, he preferred to keep out of
them. Under Fenn's rule he had often found a tolerably thin excuse
serve his need. Fenn had so many other things to do that he was not
unwilling to forego an occasional licking, if the excuse was good
enough. And he never took the trouble to find out whether the
ingenious stories Wren was wont to serve up to him were true or not.
Kennedy, Wren reflected uncomfortably, had given signs that this
easy-going method would not do for him. Still, it might be possible to
hunt up some story that would meet the case. Walton had a gift in that
direction.
"He says I'm to go to his study after prayers," reported Wren. "Can't
you think of any excuse that would do?"
"Can't understand Fenn running you in," said Walton. "I thought he
never spoke to Kennedy."
Wren explained.
"It wasn't Fenn who ran me in. Kennedy was down town, too, and twigged
me going into Rose's. I went there and had tea after I got your things
at the grocer's."
"Oh, he spotted you himself, did he?" said Walton. "And he doesn't
know Fenn saw you?"
"I don't think so."
"Then I've got a ripping idea. When he has you up tonight, swear that
you got leave from Fenn to go down town."
"But he'll ask him."
"The odds are that he won't.
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