“Yes, sir. I reckon I was the leader.”
“What was your object?”
“We were goin’ to hold an aeroplane meet an’ the Goosetowners dared us.”
“Sit down,” said Mr. Trevor. As Art did so his father faced him. “Arthur,” he went on, “I suppose you are expecting some punishment?”
“I suppose so; I reckon I deserve it.”
“I’m not going to punish you. However, you have hurt your mother and me.”
Art’s eyes opened wide. “We have been proud of you. We have been counting on you to grow into a high-grade young man. This weakness disappoints us more than you know.”
“I didn’t think I was weak,” replied Art. “I fought fair an’ square. An’ they started the trouble.”
“That’s always the town tough’s excuse,” replied Mr. Trevor, raising his hand in protest. “It’s what the saloon brawler tells you. He’s always in the right of it.”