A lad of the average type at twenty-one has a great deal of stored up energy; he has the muscle bank and the brain bank from which to get his necessary resources, and a great many lads think Dad is a back number and he sees where the old gentleman was short on gray matter, and all advice is lost on this sort of boys. I was never conceited this way, in fact I think somebody else got nearly all the gall that should have been mine. If a fellow holds his own in these days, no matter what party is in power, Democratic or Republican, you need your full allowance of gall. The lad that thinks that the governor’s gray matter is not as profuse as it should be, but he, through some unknown force, grabbed all that was coming to him and part of dad’s might read the following verse and the conclusive portion of this chapter and apply it from a stand point of ordinary horse sense: When Johnnie Jones was twenty-one He said my farming life is done, I’ll pack my duds and say Good Bye And to the city I will hie. I’ll show the ones who think they’re it That Johnnie Jones has got the grit To make a name that will be felt Like Astor, Gould or Roosevelt. It makes the pain come home when you look back from fifty and realize that a man at twenty-one is a darn big fool, at thirty still a fool, at thirty-five a little foolish, and at forty he still has some, at forty-five wisdom breaks in gently, and at fifty he stands on the threshold of learning ready to apply and absorb, and at sixty he’s a valuable asset to his community and country. THE WEARY TRAVELER.