His mother reached up and patted his shoulder. But the line around
Jock's jaw did not soften. He turned his head to gaze down at his
mother.

"Two of those telegrams, and one letter, were from T. A. Buck,
Junior," he said. "He met me at Detroit. I never thought I'd stand
from a total stranger what I stood from that man."

"Why, what do you mean?" Alarm, dismay, astonishment were in her eyes.

"He said things. And he meant 'em. He showed me, in a perfectly well-
bred, cleancut, and most convincing way just what a miserable,
selfish, low-down, worthless young hound I am."

"He--dared!--"

"You bet he dared. And then some. And I hadn't an argument to come
back with. I don't know just where he got all his information from,
but it was straight."

He got up, strode to the window, and came back to the bed. Both hands
thrust deep in his pockets, he announced his life plans, thus:

"I'm eighteen years old. And I look twenty-three, and act twenty-five
--when I'm with twenty-five-year-olds. I've been as much help and
comfort to you as a pet alligator. You've always said that I was to go
to college, and I've sort of trained myself to believe I was. Well,
I'm not. I want to get into business, with a capital B. And I want to
jump in now. This minute. I've started out to be a first-class slob,
with you keeping me in pocket money, and clothes, and the Lord knows