and more school, and, yes, college, that would give one the proper
training. Dad had said it.

Keith went to school the next morning. With an oh-well-I-don't-care
air he slung his books over his shoulder and swung out the gate,
whistling blithely.

It might not be so bad, after all, he was telling himself. Perhaps the
print would be plainer now. Anyway, he could learn a lot in class
listening to the others; and maybe some of the boys would study with
him, and do the reading part.

But it was not to be so easy as Keith hoped for. To begin with, the
print had not grown any clearer. It was more blurred than ever. To be
sure, it was much worse with one eye than with the other; but he could
not keep one eye shut all the time. Besides--his eyes ached now if he
tried to use them much, and grew red and inflamed, and he was afraid
his father would notice them. He began to see strange flashes of
rainbow light now, too. And sometimes little haloes around the lamp
flame. As if one could study books with all that!

True, he learned something in class--but naturally he was never called
upon to recite what had already been given, so he invariably failed
miserably when it came to his turn. Even the "boy to study with"
proved to be a delusion and a snare, for no boy was found who cared to
do "all the reading," without being told the reason why it was
expected of him--and that was exactly what Keith was straining every
nerve to keep to himself.

And so week in and week out Keith stumbled along through those misery-