Then followed the flood of eager questions from a mind topsy-turvy. I answered him slowly, deliberately, and gave him in some detail his father's thesis on education, explaining how and why I happened to be in sympathy with it and pointing out by the results attained the wisdom of our plans. "Results!" he cried. "What results? In what respect is my education better than another man's? I know my Latin, and my Greek, my French, my German. I'm a good history scholar, and what you've taught me of philosophy,--the inside of books--all of it. But life, Roger,--you've starved me--starved me! If I were a babe in arms I couldn't know less--" "You'll know life in time, Jerry, see it through a finer prism." "I want to see it as it is, in the raw, not beautiful when it is not beautiful. I want the truth--all the truth, Roger, the rough and the ugly where it _is_ rough and ugly. You say you've made me a man, taught me to think fine thoughts, given me a good mind and a strong body, but all the while you were sheltering me, saving me--from what? What good are my mind and body if they aren't strong enough to be put to the test of life and survive it?" He was much agitated. "I have no fear to put you to any test--today, tomorrow," I said quietly. "Then put me to it--out there." With a wave of his arm he cried: "I must see for myself, think for myself." "You shall, Jerry, soon. Will you be patient a little while longer?" He controlled himself with an effort and bent forward in his chair, bringing his head down into his hands. "It's hard. I feel like a coward, a coward--not taking my share--" "Ah," I said suddenly, "_she_ called you that?" "Yes. If she had been a man I should have thrashed her. But in a moment I knew that she had spoken the truth." "But Jerry, a coward is one who is afraid. How could you be afraid of something you didn't know about?" "But I know now. She told me very little, Roger, but I've guessed the rest." He went on in this vein for awhile and at last grew calmer. And the result of it all was a promise on my part to answer more frankly all his questions, to subscribe to two newspapers and some magazines, and to begin on the morrow a course of reading which would prepare the way for his contact with the world. He seemed satisfied and at last went to bed with his old cheery "Good night, Dry-as-dust." After all, I had gotten out of it well enough. Only a few months remained for him within the wall and with the exception of the newspapers, my plans for him were really little changed. I may as well confess at once that my delay in broadening his point of view was selfish. I had made such a beautiful thing that I was as proud of it as any painter of his masterpiece. Until the present moment I had been true to my own ideals. What was to follow must be a concession to convention.