“So? What happened?”
Ben went around to his accustomed place at the table and seated himself.
“I don’t want any more breakfast,” he said to his mother who was already giving directions to the maid for serving him. “Why, father, you see it was this way. A crowd of fellows put that sign up on our gate-post Hallowe’en, about puppies for sale. You know. You saw it. It said I was the only puppy left.”
Mr. Barriscale repressed a smile and replied:
“Yes, I saw it. What about it?”
“Well, Hal McCormack was in that crowd. I tried to get him to tell me who wrote that on it, and he wouldn’t. He said he didn’t do it himself, but he wouldn’t tell me who did.”
“Well?”
“He said he would take the responsibility for it; so I started in to give him a thrashing.”
“He deserved it; I hope you gave him a good one.”
Mr. Barriscale had not yet fully recovered from the unpleasant sensation of having been compelled to put his son on a par with a boy of the middle-class in the matter of punishment, and he was not at all averse to having the matter evened up in this way.