"What."
In order not to dampen the child's enthusiasm, Sylvan Cheney just asked symbolically.
He was sitting on the sofa, flipping through a book casually without looking up.
Chale Cheney was sitting on the bed, eating tiny cookies, his favorite ones.
"Dad, you're not enthusiastic."
Chale Cheney was not pleased.
"Hmm?" Sylvan looked up, smiled slyly, "Not telling? If you don't, I'll leave."
He knew very well that Chale Cheney was not good at keeping secrets.
Someday, the secret about his "Mr. Yale" identity would slip out of Chale's mouth.
"Don't leave!" Chale Cheney hated being suddenly ignored, "I'll tell you a secret."
"What."
A child's secret was usually no secret at all.
But Sylvan, out of respect, was ready to listen carefully.
Chale Cheney mysteriously jumped down from the bed and opened the bedside cabinet.
He rummaged away.
Soon, he pulled out a small box from the cabinet.
It was a candy box, quite old.
