"Where is Mamma?" cried Malcolm. "Gone for the summer," explained Mr. Tower. "I know. She always goes," said James. "But she took us before. I just hate it. I like this better. We make no difference to her anyway. Let her go!" "Ain't we rich boys any more?" inquired Malcolm. "I don't know," said Mr. Tower. "That is your father's business. I think you have as much money as ever, but from now on, you are going to live like men." "We won't live like men!" cried both boys. "Now look here," said Mr. Tower kindly, "you may take my word for it that a big boy almost ten years old, and another nearly his age, who can barely read, who can't throw straight, who can't swim, or row, or walk a mile without puffing like an engine, who begins to sweat over lifting a few stones, is a mighty poor specimen. You think you are wonders because you've heard yourself called big, fine boys; you are soft fatties. I can take you to the park and pick out any number of boys half your size and age who can make either of you yell for mercy in three seconds. You aren't boys at all; if you had to get on your feet and hike back to town, before a mile you'd be lying beside the road bellowing worse than I've heard you yet. You aren't as tough and game as half the girls of your age I know." "You shut your mouth!" cried James in rage. "Mother'll fire you!" "It is you who are fired, young man," said the tutor. "Your mother is far away by this time. She left you boys with your father, who pays me to make _men_ of you, so I'm going to do it. You are big enough to know that you'll never be men, motoring around with nurses, like small babies; eating cake and ice cream when your bones and muscles are in need of stiffening and toughening. William, peel off your shirt, and show these chaps how a man's muscle should be." William obeyed, swelling his muscles. "Now you try that," suggested Mr. Tower to James, "and see how much muscle you can raise." "I'm no gutter snipe," he sneered. "I'm a gentleman! I don't need muscle. I'm never going to work." "But you've just been working!" cried the tutor. "Carrying those stones was work, and you'll remember it took both of you to lift one that William, who is only a little older than you, James, moved with one hand. You can't _play_ without working. You've got to pull to row a boat, or hold a horse. You must step out lively to play tennis, or golf, or to skate, while if you try to swim without work, you'll drown." "I ain't going to do those things!" retorted James. "No, you are going to spend your life riding in an automobile with a nurse, feeding you cake!" scoffed the tutor. William shouted and turned a cart wheel so flashingly quick that both boys jumped, James' face coloured a slow red, so the tutor took hope.