"Nothing at all, Peter, they all say it's great. All but that sporting editor of the Des Moines Register—you know him, Caleb Powers?"
"No, I don't know him. What's he say?"
"He just gives the name of the poem and then he says in his telegram, 'Don't tell me the answer, I want to guess.'"
"Five out of six is plenty," said Peter. "And say, Bill, where do you suppose I got the idea from?"
"Where?"
"From my kid—Peter Neale, 2nd. He isn't four yet, but you see I've got him working for the Bulletin already."
CHAPTER XVII
Pat furnished copy for Peter again within a month. Kate came in from the Park all breathless with an account of a fight between the child and his friend and playmate Bobby, last name not given.
"It was about an engine," explained Kate. "Bobby give it to Pat and then he wanted to take it away again. Before we could get to them Pat hit Bobby in the mouth so hard it made his mouth bleed. And that Bobby, him almost six years old. And a head taller than Pat. He bled something terrible, Mr. Neale. First I thought it was just Bobby's blood on Pat's hand, but it kept on and when I looked closer there was all the skin off of the knuckles of Pat. It must have been the teeth of that Bobby when Pat hit him. I'll be putting iodine on it this very minute if you'll watch till I get back, Mr. Neale."
"Put down that engine and come here, Pat," said Peter.