in my trousers-pockets, by walking instead of ambling or
slouching, by wiping the mud from my shoes before entering the house,
by a personally conducted tour through the realms of manicuring, and
by learning the position and use of the hat-rack. Getting no school
credits for such incidental minors in the great scheme of life, I
grew careless and indifferent and acquired a reputation that I do not
care to dwell upon. If those who had me in charge, or thought they
had, had only been wise and given me school credits for all these
things, what a model boy I might have been!

Why, I would have swallowed my pride, donned a kitchen apron, and
washed the supper dishes, and no normal boy enjoys that ceremony. By
making passes over the dishes I should have been exorcising the
spooks of cube root, and that would have been worth some personal
sacrifice. What a boon it would have been for the home folks too!
They could have indulged their penchant for literary exercises,
sitting in the parlor making out certificates for me to carry to my
teacher next day, and so all the rough places in the home would have
been made smooth. But the crowning achievement would have been my
graduation from college. I can see the picture. I am husking corn
in the lower field. To reach this field one must go the length of
the orchard and then walk across the meadow. It is a crisp autumn
day, about ten o'clock in the morning, and the sun is shining. The
golden ears are piling up under my magic skill, and there is peace.
As I take down another bundle from the shock I descry what seems to
be a sort of procession wending its way through the orchard. Then
the rail fence is surmounted, and the procession solemnly moves
across the meadow. In time the president and an assortment of
faculty members stand before me, bedight in caps and gowns. I note
that their gowns are liberally garnished with Spanish needles and
cockleburs, and their shoes give evidence of contact with elemental
mud. But then and there they confer upon me the degree of bachelor
of arts _magna cum laude_. But for this interruption I could have
finished husking that row before the dinner-horn blew.

CHAPTER III

BROWN

My neighbor came in again this evening, not for anything in
particular, but unconsciously proving that men are gregarious
animals. I like this neighbor. His name is Brown. I like the name
Brown, too. It is easy to pronounce. By a gentle crescendo you g