He had driven Joan and Donald to a refuge in the pines.
"I said," repeated Adam in a louder voice, "where have you been ?" "Picking wild flowers," said Kenny.
"You lie!" said Adam.

"It's your way of telling me to mind my own business." Kenny did not trouble to deny it.
"You've been sulking." "Very well, then," said Kenny evenly, making use of his one weapon of composure, "let's concede that I've been sulking." He was sorry instantly.
Infuriated, Adam brought his fist down upon the arm of his wheel-chair and, coughing, propelled himself up and down the room.
Kenny walked away to the window, sick with remorse.

For the old man had coughed himself into gasping quiet.

What could he do?
A wayward Irish tune, ludicrously fitting, danced into his head and made him smile.
"What shall I do with this silly old man ?" whistled Kenny softly at the window.
"What's that ?" demanded Adam suspiciously.
The insolence in his voice struck fire again.

Kenny remembered his notebook and the hour of accounting.