ly
conversant with the multiplication table and can distinguish between
active and passive verbs, but even with these attainments I somehow
feel that I have not gone to the extreme limits of the meaning of
education. In reality, I don't know what it is or what it is for. I
do wish that the man who says in his book that education is a
preparation for complete living would come into this room right now,
sit down in that chair, and tell me, man to man, what complete living
is. I want to know and think I have a right to know. Besides, he
has no right to withhold this information from me. He had no right
to get me all stirred up with his definition, and then go away and
leave me dangling in the air. If he were here I'd ask him a few
pointed questions. I'd ask him to tell me just how the fact that
seven times nine is sixty-three is connected up with complete living.
I'd want him to explain, too, what the binomial theorem has to do
with complete living, and also the dative of reference. I got the
notion, when I was struggling with that binomial theorem, that it
would ultimately lead on to fame or fortune; but it hasn't done
either, so far as I can make out.

There was a time when I could solve an equation of three unknown
quantities, and could even jimmy a quantity out from under a radical
sign, and had the feeling that I was quite a fellow. Then one day I
went into a bookstore to buy a book. I had quite enough money to pay
for one, and had somehow got the notion that a boy of my attainments
ought to have a book. But, in the presence of the blond chap behind
the counter, I was quite abashed, for I did not in the least know
what book I wanted. I knew it wasn't a Bible, for we had one at
home, but further than that I could not go. Now, if knowing how to
buy a book is a part of complete living, then, in that blond
presence, I was hopelessly adrift. I had been taught that gambling
is wrong, but there was a situation where I had to take a chance or
show the white feather. Of course, I took the chance and was
relieved of my money by a blond who may or may not have been able to
solve radicals. I shall not give the title of the book I drew in
that lottery, for this is neither the time nor the place for
confessions.

I was a book-agent for one summer, but am trying to live it down.
Hoping to sell a copy of the book whose glowing description I had
memorized, I called at the home of a wealthy farmer. The house was
sp