In all affairs of human tension there must come a breaking point. It
came one night as the two men were walking home.
"Peter," said James, stopping in mid-stride. He mopped his forehead.
His manner had been feverish all the evening.
"Yes?" said Peter.
"I can't stand this any longer. I haven't had a good night's rest for
weeks. We must find out definitely which of us is to have that
sweater."
"Let's go back and ask her," said Peter.
So they turned back and rang the bell and went into the house and
presented themselves before Miss Forrester.
"Lovely evening," said James, to break the ice.
"Superb," said Peter.
"Delightful," said Miss Forrester, looking a little surprised at
finding the troupe playing a return date without having booked it in
advance.
"To settle a bet," said James, "will you please tell us who--I should
say, whom--you are knitting that sweater for?"
"It is not a sweater," replied Miss Forrester, with a womanly candour
that well became her. "It is a sock. And it is for my cousin Juliet's
youngest son, Willie.
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