CHAPTER V
It was a Pat prodigiously grown who met Peter as he came down the gangplank. Not much had altered in the look of him but just the added inches and heft gave him a curiously disturbing air of maturity. Peter would have liked to put his arms around him but he didn't dare. The handshake was not adequate and there was nothing he could say to express what he wanted to. It seemed better not to try.
"Hello, Pat," he said.
"Hello, Father," said the boy.
"Don't," exclaimed Peter almost as if in pain. "I've got a name. I don't want to be father. I never have been father. Four years oughtn't to do that."
"I'm sorry, Peter," Pat said it almost shyly.
The baggage was passed promptly, but as Peter was about to leave the pier a man came up to him.
"You're Peter Neale, aren't you?" he asked.
"I'm a reporter from the Bulletin. My name's Weed. Mr. Twice sent me down. He told me to tell you to come right up to the office."