It took three more days for Merle Bonner to burn through his money, during which time I indulged something awful with Frank Metty. We had us a couple more picnics, chasing naked in that soft-bottomed stream, f*****g in it as water slid by, rolling and playing. I kept Whitlock informed of my progress, though without certain details. He was told I was now part of the gang and replied as usual, to continue as instructed. I figured to send one more wire when we were to depart for camp, advising I’d not likely send more until the job was planned. Telegraphing would become difficult once out of town. For now, progress was as it should be, and I was having a time.
Merle Bonner began to grumble on the third day, and Frank warned me it meant money was low. “He gets like this,” Frank added.
“Meani
