The Holes and John Smith

"This is the first time he's talked to anybody," Fat Boy breathed. "I--I'm scared.

"Nothing can happen," I said, optimistically. "This'll be good publicity."

We watched.

John murmured something. The reporter, a paunchy, balding man, scribbled furiously in his notebook.

John yawned, muttered something else. The reporter continued to scribble.

John sipped beer. His eyes brightened, and he began to talk more rapidly.

The reporter frowned, stopped writing, and studied John curiously.

John finished his first beer, started on his second. His eyes were wild, and he was talking more and more rapidly.

"He's doing it," Hammer-Head groaned. "He's telling him!"

I rose swiftly. "We better get over there. We should have known better--"

We were too late. The repo