Brennan said, "You understand me, don't you, Jimmy?"

"You want my father's machine."

"Only to help you, Jimmy. Can't you believe that?"

"No."

Brennan drove his car with ease. A soft smile lurked around his lips. He
went on, "You know what your father's machine will do for you, don't you,
Jimmy?"

"Yes."

"But have you ever attended school?"

"No." But Jimmy remembered the long hours and hours of study and practice
before he became proficient with his typewriter. For a moment he felt
close to tears. It had been the only possession he truly owned, now it
was gone. And with it was gone the author's first check. The thrill of
that first check is far greater than Graduation or the First Job. It is
approximately equal to the flush of pride that comes when the author's
story hits print with his NAME appended.

But Jimmy's typewriter was gone, and his check was gone. Without a doubt
the check would turn up cashed--through the operations of Jake Caslow.

Brennan's voice cut into his thoughts. "You will attend school, Jimmy.
You'll have to."