"Hey, mister," Peter said, "it's kinda dark in here, isn't it?"

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact it is."

"Hey, you wouldn't want to buy my old baseball, would you? My dad just bought me a new one."

"No, you don't really need baseballs in my line of work."

"If you don't buy my baseball," Peter said, "I'll tell my dad where you are."

"All right, all right," the lover groaned, "I'll buy your damn baseball. How much is it?"

"Fifty dollars."

The man didn't want to pay fifty dollars for a baseball, but he decided he had no other choice. The boy figured he was on a roll, so he asked, "Hey, mister, you want to buy my glove?"

The lover didn't even bother arguing: "How much?"

"A hundred dollars!" The man had just finished paying up when the woman opened the door and said the coast was clear.

The next Sunday, the boy went to confession because he felt guilty for having conned his mother's lover out of a hundred and fifty bucks. "Hey, mister," he said, climbing into the confessional, "it's kinda dark in here, isn't it?"

The voice groaned, "Not you again!"