“Yup.” His father’s face was buried in the morning paper.
“That will be one swell game,” Jimmie ventured.
“Yup.”
For some little time Jimmie said no more. Then, feeling ready to burst, he exclaimed:
“Gee! There are times when I really wish I was a good liar.”
“Why? What’s up?” His father’s head came out from behind the paper.
“I want to go to that game something fierce. And if only I could tell ’em my grandmother had died or—or something, I—” Jimmie paused for breath.
“You’d get to go to the game,” his father smiled.
“Yes, but I couldn’t get away with it,” he said.
“No,” said his father, “I hope not. But you’ll go all the same.”