“I wish you could tell me what’s bothering you, Pete. I know it’s a trite thing to say, but that’s what fathers are for.”
“Nothing, Pop. It’s nothing.”
“You know I can’t believe that! You haven’t been yourself for a couple of weeks, ever since, um-m-m-m, it was about the time that spaceship was looted, I think.”
“I said it was nothing!”
“Don’t snap at me, Pete. I’m trying to help. And your mother has noticed it, too. You’ve been nervous, fidgety. Your nerves are on hairsprings, you haven’t eaten well; your mother says she’s heard you moaning in your sleep.
“We had a little talk a while ago, remember? That night you came in late? You told me to forget about it, to let you handle it. But you admitted something was wrong.”
“It was then, but it’s all cleared up. Please, Pop!”
Big Pete s
