FullReads

But Mrs. McChesney was serious again in a moment. She lay with her head against her boy’s breast for a while. Then she spoke what was in her sane, far-seeing mind.

“Jock, if I’ve ever wished you were a girl, I take it all back now. I’d rather have heard what you just said than any piece of unbelievable good fortune in the world. God bless you for it, dear. But, Jock, you’re going to college. No–wait a minute. You’ll have a chance to prove the things you just said by getting through in three years instead of the usual four. If you’re in earnest you can do it. I want my boy to start into this business war equipped with every means of defense. You called it a game. It’s more than that–it’s a battle. Compared to the successful business man of to-day the Revolutionary Minute Men were as keen and alert as the Seven Sleepers. I know that there are more non-college men driving street-cars than there are college men. But that doesn’t influence me. You could get a job now. Not much of a position, perhaps, but something self-respecting and fairly well-paying. It would teach you many things. You might get a knowledge of human nature that no college could give you. But there’s something–poise–self-confidence–assurance–that nothing but college can give you. You will find yourself in those three years. After you finish college you’ll have difficulty in fitting into your proper niche, perhaps, and you’ll want to curse the day on which you heeded my advice. It’ll look as though you had simply wasted those three precious years. But in five or six years after, when your character has jelled, and you’ve hit your pace, you’ll bless me for it. As for a knowledge of humanity, and of business tricks–well, your mother is fairly familiar with the busy marts of trade. If you want to learn folks you can spend your summers selling Featherlooms with me.”

“But, mother, you don’t understand just why–“

“Yes, dear ‘un, I do. After all, remember you’re only eighteen. You’ll probably spend part of your time rushing around at class proms with a red ribbon in your coat lapel to show you’re on the floor committee. And you’ll be girl-fussing, too. But you’d be attracted to girls, in or out of college, and I’d rather, just now, that it would be some pretty, nice-thinking college girl in a white sweater and a blue serge skirt, whose worst thought w
as wondering if you could be cajoled into taking her to the Freshman-Sophomore basketball game, than some red- lipped, black-jet-earringed siren gazing at you across the table in some basement cafe. And, goodness knows, Jock, you wear your clothes so beautifully that even the haberdashers’ salesmen eye you with respect. I’ve seen ’em. That’s one course you needn’t take at college.”

Jock sat silent, his face grave with thought. “But when I’m earning money–real money–it’s off the road for you,” he said, at last. “I don’t want this to sound like a scene from East Lynne, but, mother–“

“Um-m-m-m–ye-ee-es,” assented Emma McChesney, with no alarming enthusiasm. “Jock dear, carry me back to bed again, will you? And then open the closet door and pull out that big sample-case to the side of my bed. The newest Fall Featherlooms are in it, and somehow, I’ve just a whimsy notion that I’d like to look ’em over.”