"Of course I did."
"Didn't you remember that I'd get blamed for it."
Pat was pale with earnestness and almost crying. "I didn't think anybody'd be blamed. I wanted to do something for you."
"Do you mean to say," asked Peter in surprise, "that you thought it was as good a story as I'd write."
"I thought it was a better story. It was a better story than you ever wrote."
Peter was silent with astonishment. Where, he wondered, did his son Peter Neale, second, ever unearth such amazing and audacious confidence. Suddenly it came to him that he was not the only parent. He remembered Maria. Obviously there was no use in arguing with Pat any further. Indeed he was almost a little frightened at so bold a blaze of spirit.
"Well," he said at length, "what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to report to Mr. Twice on Monday," answered Pat.
Peter sent down and got a "Bulletin" in order to find out just what it was that Peter Neale had written. He read only the first line, "Can Jack Dempsey sock? Ask Larry Williams."