Taine let him out.

“If I were you,” he told the dog, “I’d lay off that woodchuck. You’ll have all the woods dug up.”

“He ain’t digging after any woodchuck, Hiram.”

“Well, a rabbit, then.”

“Not a rabbit, either. I snuck off yesterday when I was supposed to be beating rugs. That’s what Abbie got so sore about.”

Taine grunted, breaking eggs into the skillet.

“I snuck away and went over to where Towser was. I talked with him and he told me it wasn’t a woodchuck or a rabbit. He said it was something else. I pitched in and helped him dig. Looks to me like he found an old tank of some sort buried out there in the woods.”

“Towser wouldn’t dig up any tank,” protested Taine. “He wouldn’t care about anything except a rabbit or a woodchuck.”

“He was working hard,” insisted Beasly. “He seemed to be excited.”

“Maybe the woodchuck just dug his hole under this old tank or whatever it might be.”

“Maybe so,” Beasly agreed. He fiddled with the radio some more. He got a disk jockey who was pretty terrible.

Taine shoveled eggs and bacon onto plates and brought them to the table. He poured big cups of coffee and began buttering the toast.

“Dive in,” he said to Beasly.

“This is good of you, Hiram, to take me in like this. I won’t stay no longer than it takes to find a job.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly say—”

“There are times,” said Beasly, “when I get to thinking I haven’t got a friend and then I remember your ma, how nice she was to me and all—”

“Oh, all right,” said Taine.

He knew when he was licked.

He brought the toast and a jar of jam to the table and sat down, beginning to eat.

“Maybe you got something I could help you with,” suggested Beasly, using the back of his hand to wipe egg off his chin.