think, Roger" (he called me Roger now, for after all I was more like an elder brother than a father to him), "sometimes I think that things are too easy for me; that I ought to be out doing my share in the work of the world."

   "Oh, that will come in time. If you think things are too easy, I might manage to make them a little harder."

   He laughed affectionately and clapped me on the shoulder.

   "Oh, no, you don't, old Dry-as-dust. Not books. That isn't what I meant. I mean life, struggles against odds. I've just been wondering what chance I'd have to get, along by myself, without a lot of people waiting on me."

   "I've tried to show you, Jerry. You can go into the woods with a gun and an ax and exist in comfort."

   "Yes, but the world isn't all woods; and axes and guns aren't the only weapons."

   "But the principle is the same."

   He flashed a bright glance at me.

   "Flynn told me yesterday that I could make good in the prize ring if I'd let him take me in hand."

   (The deuce he had! Flynn would lose his engagement as a boxing teacher if he didn't heed my warnings better.)

   "The prize ring is not what you're being trained for, my young friend," I said with some asperity.

   "What then?" he asked.

   "First of all I hope I'm training you to be a gentleman. And that means—"

   "Can't a boxer be a gentleman?" he broke in quickly.

   "He might be, I suppose, but he usually isn't." He was forcing me into an attitude of priggishness which I regretted.

   "Then why," he persisted, "are you having me taught to box?"

   "Chiefly to make your muscles hard, to inure you to pain, to teach you self-reliance."

   "But I oughtn't to learn to box then, if it's going to keep me from being a gentleman. What is a gentleman, Roger?"

 Prev. P 21/261 next