Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) THE BOY GREW OLDER BY HEYWOOD BROUN [Illustration: colophon] G. P. Putnam's Sons New York & London The Knickerbocker Press 1923 Copyright, 1922, by Heywood Broun Made in the United States of America _First Printing, October 1922_ _Second Printing, October 1922_ _Third Printing, November 1922_ _Fourth Printing, December 1922_ _Fifth Printing, February 1923_ _Sixth Printing, March 1923_ [Illustration: The Knickerbocker Press New York] Made in the United States of America DEDICATED TO HERBERT BAYARD SWOPE The Boy Grew Older Book I CHAPTER I "Your son was born ten minutes ago," said the voice at the other end of the wire. "I'll be up," replied Peter Neale, "right away." But it wasn't right away. First he had to go upstairs to the card room and settle his losses. Indeed he played one more pot for when he returned to the table his deal had come around again. He felt that it was not the thing to quit just then. The other men might think he had timed his departure in order to save the dollar ante. He dealt the cards and picked up four spades and a heart. Eventually, he paid five dollars to draw and again he had four spades and a heart. Nevertheless, he bet ten dollars but it was no go. His hands shook as he dropped the two blue chips in the centre of the table. The man with a pair of jacks noticed that and called. Peter threw his cards away. "I've got nothing--a busted flush. I want to cash in now. I owe for two stacks. That's right, isn't it? I haven't any chips left. If somebody'll lend me a fountain pen I'll make out a check. I guess I need a check too. Any kind'll do. I can cross the name off." "Why are you quitting so soon?" asked the banker as Peter waved the check back and forth to let it dry. "We're all going to quit at seven o'clock." "Two rounds and a consolation pot," corrected somebody across the table. Peter was curiously torn between reticence and an impulse to tell. He felt a little as if he might begin to cry. When he spoke his voice was thick. "I've got to go up to see my son," he said. "He's just been born." He shoved the check over to the banker and was out of the room before anybody could say anything. He thought that the banker said, "Congratulations," as he slammed the door behind him, but he could not be certain of it. All the way up in the taxi he worried. The hospital was half a mile away. He wished that the nurse had said, "A fine boy," but he remembered it was just, "Your son was born ten minutes ago." "If anything had been wrong," he thought, "she wouldn't have said it over the telephone."