was flabbergasted. How dare this man yell at him for protecting Rose from his marauding monster of a child? Thrusting the wriggling boy at his father, who caught him even though the gesture surprised him, H.L. barked, “Take your kid, then, and teach him some manners. Miss Gilhooley isn’t accustomed to being mauled by uncouth brats.” “Oh, now, Mr. May, please . . .” Disregarding Rose’s protest, H.L. scowled at the now furious father. “What do you mean, manhandling my boy like that?” H.L. leaned toward the man. “What do you mean, allowing the kid to attack Miss Gilhooley?” Rose tried again. “But . . .” Disregarding Rose in his turn, the father hollered, “He didn’t attack her!” The two boys drew back. The one who’d made the dash for Rose looked as if he was feeling guilty about his misdeed and ashamed he’d made his father angry. Rose judged him to be around seven years old, but he was upset enough that he stuck a thumb in his mouth. From the expression in his big, scared eyes, Rose guessed this was a behavior he only resorted to when he was under extreme duress.
