"But you have heard us discuss this matter over and over, and take measures to discover the author, and yet you have never intimated that you knew any thing about it."
"Well, the author did not wish to be known until the right time came, and that is a good reason for keeping the matter secret, I think."
"Will you tell who the author is now?" asked James, impatient to obtain the long-sought information.
"Perhaps I will if you are very anxious to know."
"Of course I am, and every one else who is interested in the paper."
That was the crisis to James. We can scarcely conceive of its interest to the boy-writer. His time of triumph had come. James had not treated him very well, and we think he enjoyed that moment of victory a little more for that reason. That would have been human, and Benjamin was human. His ruse had proved successful, and his talents, too. Now he could startle his brother as much as would a thunder-bolt out of a clear sky. So he answered his inquiry by saying,—
"Benjamin Franklin "; and he said it with emphasis and an air of triumph.
If James' countenance could have been photographed at that moment, it would have shown a mixture of amazement, incredulity, and wonder. It was several moments before he so far recovered from the shock as to be able to speak.
"What! Do you mean to say that you wrote those articles?" Benjamin might have discovered some doubt in James' tone and appearance when he spoke.
"Certainly I do."