"Mother!" he exclaimed, rushing to Celia's arms. She hugged him fervently. I patted him manfully on the shoulder, but I felt shy and a little inept. "Dad!" he added, running the back of one hand across his tear-stained cheeks. "How are you, son?" I said inadequately. Freddie looked up at me imploringly. "Take me away from here, dad. _Please_ take me away from here!" He buried his head on Celia's breast and started to sob. "We will, darling," said Celia. We exchanged swift glances. "We certainly will, son, if you're unhappy here," I said rather mechanically. I was, to tell the truth, rather shocked by the emotional display. Freddie had always been such a self-contained little boy, so beyond his years in control and understanding, so undemonstrative. "I think," said the principal portentously, "that matters would be best served if Edmund waited outside." "I agree." There was no reason for Freddie to hear whatever remained to be said. The kid made quite a fuss about leaving us, even for a few minutes, but in the end Masefield escorted him out with friendly firmness. "We are all in accord then, that your son is to leave Chicago Classical School?" "I think so," said Celia, with unconcealed hostility. "What steps do we take now?" I asked more civilly. "Do we enroll him in the second grade of public school? I mean, is his work here fully transferable?" * * * * * The principal seemed to reach very carefully for his next words. He seemed in fact faintly apprehensive. "Mr. Sponsor, under normal circumstances a child's credits from Chicago Classical are acceptable at more than par in the public school system. But this is a case in which the authorities are obliged to exercise jurisdiction." "Just what do you mean by that?" Celia said angrily. "Darling," I said patting her hand, "control yourself. Let's try to hear this thing objectively." "Yes, Mrs. Sponsor, as your husband has said, this is a matter which requires considerable detachment. We two have had a number of conversations in the past year, and I must say candidly that you did not seem to realize the delicacy and seriousness of Edmund's problem. By authorities I mean, of course, the juvenile delinquency courts." "Now I'm the one who doesn't understand," I said very mildly. "You are aware, Mr. Sponsor, that aggressive non-competitiveness is carried on the statute books as a misdemeanor." Scorn and ridicule were in Celia's voice. "But Freddie is a seven-year-old!" "Quite. But our concern as educators is with the future adult. And unless the child's habits of thought are corrected in the early, formative years, all of his aberrations are magnified by maturity. Would you want your son to grow up a criminal, a seditionist?" "You need not worry about that," I answered firmly. "I'll take Freddie in hand. He'll learn the value of competition if I have to beat it into him!"