“There’s a train leaving here at six fifty,” Bert told him.
“Good. I can make that easily.”
“We’ll at least drive you to the station, Dad,” Ken said.
“And afterward we’ll print up those negatives, so we can bring them in tomorrow to show you,” Sandy added.
About an hour later Sandy was proudly studying the first print from his new camera. “Look at this,” he told Ken. “A four-by-five print from a negative less than half an inch square! That little peanut certainly has a wonderful lens.”
“Mmm,” Ken murmured. “Great.”
Sandy dropped the print back into the tray and prepared to enlarge the next image on his tiny strip of film. “Wish we’d gotten a picture of Bert snowed under by pans last night,” he said, grinning over his shoulder.
“I think that event will live in our memories all right without a picture to remind us,” Ken assured him.
The phone rang as he finished the sentence and he reached out to pick up the darkroom extension.
“Hello. Brentwood Advance,” he said automatically.... “Oh, Mr. Morris.... Yes, this is Ken.” He listened for a moment. “No, we don’t,” he said then. “Never saw him before.... Really? Well, he’ll probably get in touch with you. I don’t see why you should have to worry about it.”