I think they both expected to hear that the house was on fire.
"The round-up starts next week, dad," I blurted, and then stopped.

It just occurred to me that it might not sound important to them.
Dad matched his finger-tips together.

"Since I first bought a bunch of cattle," he drawled, "the round-up has never failed to start some time during this month.

Is it vitally important that it should _not_ start ?" "_I've_ got to start at once, or I can't catch it." I fancied, just then, that I detected a glimmer of amusement on Crawford's face.

I wanted to hit him with something.
"Is there any reason why it must be caught ?" dad wanted to know, in his worst tone, which is almost diabolically calm.
"Yes," I rapped out, growing a bit riled, "there is.