the ugly truth. "He's sorry and won't do it again, and--well,
I'd hate a milksop. Father has forgotten that he was young
himself once."

Dumont's father and mother charged against Ann Arbor that which
they might have charged against their own alternations of tyranny
and license, had they not been humanly lenient in self-excuse.
"No more college!" said his father.

"The place for you, young man, is my office, where I can keep an
eye or two on you."

"That suits me," replied the son, indifferently--he made small
pretense of repentance at home.

"I never wanted to go to college."

"Yes, it was your mother's doing," said old Dumont. "Now
we'll try MY way of educating a boy."

So Jack entered the service of his father's god-of-the-six-days,
and immediately showed astonishing talent and
twelve-to-fourteen-hour assiduity. He did not try to talk with
Pauline. He went nowhere but to business; he avoided the young
men.

"It's a bad idea to let your home town know too much about
you," he reflected, and he resolved that his future gambols out
of bounds should be in the security of distant and large
cities--and they were. Seven months after he went to work he