Had my boy evinced a desire to read the remaining thirty-five James books, I would not have restrained him, farther than to suggest a change. It so happened that when he had finished the three books mentioned he had had enough of these distinguished gentlemen and their ilk, and began casting about in other directions. So my message on the reading subject is, don’t think that the boy’s craving for the nickel library is an indication of depravity, or that indulgence in it will start him on the road to perdition. The appetite for these books is a normal one. It develops at a time when his appreciation of romance is in full bloom but while big words, subtle phrasing and genuine ingenuity are not yet within his comprehension. It demands quick action and quick results, stripped of the artistic setting and higher polish which are demanded by the refinement of matured intellect. Do not regard this kind of reading as a menace to the boy’s morals, but as a stepping-stone to something better and more beneficial. Do not, either by rule or ridicule, drive the boy from his home to seek it, but stay with him and guide him through it. Keep him well supplied with good books and good magazines that approach, as nearly as you can judge, the requirement of his fancy. Watch him, but do not worry him. Have the better things at hand and accessible and point the way to them. Rest assured that in due time Cut-Throat Charley will have lost his charm, and a hero more worthy of emulation will stand in his shoes. VI THE SIN OF SEX SECRECY Let us suppose that our country has become involved in a war. At the edge of your town a battle rages. You can hear the roar of cannon and clash of steel as columns of men fall in their blood, cut down by the flashing sabres and flying canister. Re-enforcements are hurrying to the scene. Up the street comes a regiment of soldiers with flags waving, drums beating and arms gleaming in the sunshine. Your son, your boy, standing in the doorway, laughs and cheers as they approach. The band strikes up a lively air. The boy beats time with his feet, starts, hesitates and then, with a wave of his cap, falls in line with the gay procession and marches joyously toward the scene of death and carnage. Madam, at such a moment what would you do? Would you sit calmly at your window and see him go innocently, blindly on to the danger that you knew lay just beyond the turn of the road? Would you not fly to his side and draw him back and hold him tight in your arms? And if he were big and strong and insistent, though still your boy, would you not at least tell him that war is not all music and drum-beats and bright uniforms? Would you not warn him of its dangers, of its horrors? If he must go and you could not hold him, would you let him go unwarned of its realities--and unarmed?