Mr. Finbrink held the lantern so that the rays shone fully against
the boy's closed eyelids. Any youngster genuinely asleep would
have opened his eyes instantly, and Mr. Finbrink knew it. But
Timmy began to snore in earnest.

"I'm glad you sleep so soundly," went on Mr. Finbrink. "It shows,
boy, what a clear conscience you have! No guile in your heart!
But I wish you'd wake up and tell me who broke the bottle against
the brick and made me sprint down the street."

Still young Master Timmy snored.

"In your sleeve you're laughing, to think how you fooled your
father, aren't you?" murmured Mr. Finbrink. "Well, it was a good
joke, and I admit it, young man, so I'm not going to trounce you
this time. But I'd be glad if you'd wake up and tell me who put
you up to that game."

Master Timmy, however, was disobliging enough to slumber on.

"All right, then," nodded the father. "I say again, it was a
good joke. Good night!"

Only a little louder snore served as the son's answer. Mr. Finbrink
went out, closed the door and his footsteps sounded down the hallway.

"Whew!" gasped Master Timmy, opening his eyes presently. "That
was a mighty narrow squeak! But I got out of it this time.
That Tom Reade is a sure enough wonder!"