"Up! No, you're not!" shouted Jock, making a rush at her. Then, in the
exuberance of his splendid young strength, he picked her up, swathed
snugly in a roll of sheeting and light blanket, carried her to the big
chair by the window, and seated himself, with his surprised and
laughing mother in his arms.

But Mrs. McChesney was serious again in a moment. She lay with her
head against her boy's breast for a while. Then she spoke what was in
her sane, far-seeing mind.

[Illustration: "In the exuberance of his young strength, be picked her
up"]

"Jock, if I've ever wished you were a girl, I take it all back now.
I'd rather have heard what you just said than any piece of
unbelievable good fortune in the world. God bless you for it, dear.
But, Jock, you're going to college. No--wait a minute. You'll have a
chance to prove the things you just said by getting through in three
years instead of the usual four. If you're in earnest you can do it. I
want my boy to start into this business war equipped with every means
of defense. You called it a game. It's more than that--it's a battle.
Compared to the successful business man of to-day the Revolutionary
Minute Men were as keen and alert as the Seven Sleepers. I know that
there are more non-college men driving street-cars than there are
college men. But that doesn't influence me. You could get a job now.
Not much of a position, perhaps, but something self-respecting and
fairly well-paying. It would teach you many things. You might get a
knowledge of human nature that no college could give you. But there's
something--poise--self-confidence--assurance--that nothing but college