Certainly Professor Morris, whose sins of learning were heavy ones and
bore cruelly on those who loved him in spite of his strange ways, would
never have believed any of this. At home, as a boy, when Benny
studied, the house was kept so still that incautious mice sometimes
came out of their holes and nibbled in broad daylight. At college his
queerness, forgetfulness and oddity was excused because of his
wonderful recitations and amazing marks. You just couldn't rag a
fellow who made one hundred right along. When he married, he found a
lovely, gentle girl, who believed him the greatest of all men and held
his position as Professor of Ancient History in Princeton as the
highest of all earthly positions. But when Elinor was a year old, the
little wife died, quite worn out from looking after Professor Benjamin
Mollingfort Morris, who had proved to be her most helpless and
troublesome child.

Mrs. Morris died warning her older children to look out for the father,
and so passed her burden on to them. But some way or other, there was
different stuff in the children. They did look after their father, and
took good care of the old Prodigy, but the task did not wear them out.
Young Jack was indeed so bright that it rather worried Evelyn and
Warren, who were always on the alert to overcome any symptoms of genius
in themselves or the other children; but owing to their caution, he
seemed to be developing well. And Professor Morris, blind to it all,
forever digging in the dust of ages, knew nothing of the fact that he
was the father of four wonderful children who were successfully
carrying on the difficult business of growing up, managing a house,
taking care of a parent, and looking after money matters as well.

Warren was the soul of honor. He hated school, but went without a
skip, because it was right. And that's a hard thing to do. He looked