"And then you carried my birthday presents down and put them in the car."

"Now, Jimmy, how does your father drive? Fast or slow?"

"Fast."

"So now, young man, you tell me how I could go back up to my apartment,
get my coat and hat, get my car out of the garage, and race to the top of
that hill so that I could turn around and come at you around that curve?
Just tell me that, young man."

"I--don't know--how you did it."

"It doesn't make sense, does it?"

"--No--"

"Jimmy, I'm trying to help you. Your father and I were fraternity
brothers in college. I was best man at your parents' wedding. I am your
godfather. Your folks were taken away from both of us--and I'm hoping to
take care of you as if you were mine." He turned to Jimmy's grandparents.
"I wish to God that I could find the driver of that other car. He didn't
hit anybody, but he's as guilty of a hit-and-run offence as the man who
does. If I ever find him, I'll have him in jail until he rots!"

"Jimmy," pleaded his grandmother, "can't you see? Mr. Brennan is only
trying to help. Why would he do the evil thing you say he did?"

"Because--" and Jimmy started to cry. The utter futility of trying to
make people believe was too much to bear.