"
"Oh, yes, I did. We talked about it."
Adam Patch shook his head mildly.
"Oh, no. You never sent _me_ any essay. You may have thought you sent it
but it never reached me."
"Why, you read it, Grampa," insisted Anthony, somewhat exasperated, "you
read it and disagreed with it."
The old man suddenly remembered, but this was made apparent only by a
partial falling open of his mouth, displaying rows of gray gums. Eying
Anthony with a green and ancient stare he hesitated between confessing
his error and covering it up.
"So you're writing," he said quickly. "Well, why don't you go over and
write about these Germans? Write something real, something about what's
going on, something people can read."
"Anybody can't be a war correspondent," objected Anthony. "You have to
have some newspaper willing to buy your stuff. And I can't spare the
money to go over as a free-lance."
"I'll send you over," suggested his grandfather surprisingly. "I'll get
you over as an authorized correspondent of any newspaper you pick out."
Anthony recoiled from the idea--almost simultaneously he bounded toward
it.
"I--don't--know--"
He would have to leave Gloria, whose whole life yearned toward him and
enfolded him.
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