DEAR MR. PUBLISHER--You won't remember me, though once I came to your office with father to see you. You may recall the circumstance, because it was the first day your son went to college. I was quite a little chap then, and did not know what it was to be the son of an author with the habit of making people believe that he is writing about his own family, when half the time he is just making up. Or, as like as not, it was his own very self that did the things he blames on us. Anyway, a fellow has to be pretty stiff on his pins and pretty handy with his knuckles to be a good author's son in a big school. I came through right-side-up, however, but sometimes it must come hard on the little chaps. You see, the fellows want to know all the time if you really said or did some fool thing or other that father has stuffed into the books, and of which you are as innocent as Abel was of the murder of Cain. (He was. It's all right--only sounds rum!) But of course a fellow does not go back on his father at school. He can't afford to let anything like that pass. So of course there's a row--sometimes bigger, sometimes shorter, according to the length of time it takes the other fellow to decide about crying, "Hold, enough!" as they do in plays. Or, as we call it at school, "backing down." Well, I put my time through at school, and by and by the fellows got to know--that is, after several little difficulties had been adjusted. Not that I like having to fight. It is right to be patient just as long as ever you can. And then, when you can't--why, the best way and the quickest is to let her rip. Finish it good, once and for all. As father says, "Keep the peace, my boy! But if the other fellow won't, why, make him! First have your quarrel just, and then remember to open with your left!"