Chapter TwelveFather Was A Gay Old Boy
Tim walked around the table and put an awkward hand on Sybil’s shoulder. Nothing happened, so he walked around the table again and said, “There, there.” Sybil went on crying. He started around the table a third time, then realized with a start that a face was peering through the kitchen door.
“Who the hell are you?” he snapped.
The face looked injured and embarrassed. “Elias Whittlebait, at your service.”
“Oh,” said Tim. “Excuse me.”
“Ain’t the missus well?” asked Mr. Whittlebait.
“She’s a little upset.”
Mr. Whittlebait pursed his lips and looked sage. “About that there—that there—” He let his nasal voice trail off and nodded in the direction of the pier.
Sybil lifted her head and tried to smile. “You go talk to Mr. Whittlebait,” she said to T
