ll give an idea of his conception of the ethics in the case:

SWARTHMORE--1880.

DEAR PAPA:

I am quite on the Potomac. I with all the boys at our table were
called up, there is seven of us, before Prex. for stealing sugar-bowls
and things off the table. All the youths said, "O President, I didn't
do it." When it came my turn I merely smiled gravely, and he passed on
to the last. Then he said, "The only boy that doesn't deny it is
Davis. Davis, you are excused. I wish to talk to the rest of them."
That all goes to show he can be a gentleman if he would only try. I am
a natural born philosopher so I thought this idea is too idiotic for me
to converse about so I recommend silence and I also argued that to deny
you must necessarily be accused and to be accused of stealing would of
course cause me to bid Prex. good-by, so the only way was, taking these
two considerations with each other, to deny nothing but let the
good-natured old duffer see how silly it was by retaining a placid
silence and so crushing his base but thoughtless behavior and
machinations.

DICK.

In the early days at home--that is, when the sun shone--we played
cricket and baseball and football in our very spacious back yard, and
the programme of our sports was always subject to Richard's change
without notice. When it rained we adjourned to the third-story front,
where we played melodrama of simple plot but many thrills, and it was
always Richard who wrote the plays, produced them, and played the
principal part. As I recall these dramas of my early youth, the action
was almost endless and, although the company comprised two charming
misses (at least I know that they eventually grew into two very lovely
women), there was no time wasted over anything so sentimental or futile
as love-scenes. But whatever else the play contained in the way of
great scenes, there was always a mountain pass--the mountains being
composed of a chair and two tables--and Richard was forever leading his
little band over the pass while the band, wholly indifferent as to
whether the road led to honor, glory, or total annihilation, meekly
followed its leader. For some reason, probably on account of my early
admiration for Richard and being only too willing to obey his command,
I was invariably cast for the villain in these early dramas, and the
end of the play always ended in a hand-to-hand conflict between the
hero and myself. As Richard, naturally, was the hero a