woe-begone facial expressions until they came to my relief
quite naturally. It seemed to me that on these occasions I was able to
make my face assume an actual pallor. I put off beginning any task until
the very last moment. If, however, all excuses failed and I was compelled
to do some work, I hurried with all my might to get through with it and
thus get the matter off my mind. I have since been told that this hurrying
through a piece of work is characteristic of many lazy people; or they go
to the other extreme and dally along, killing all the time they can.

Between the ages of ten and twelve I was an omnivorous reader. My literary
bill-of-fare was far-reaching; I read everything. The family almanacs came
in for a careful review. After reading the harrowing details of diseases,
which could only be removed by the timely use of somebody's dope, I always
thought: "That's just the way I feel." But when I turned over a few pages
and read some lady sufferer's testimonial, I was sure that I felt very
much the same myself. All these symptoms, however, assumed a more
tangible form as I advanced in years.

I liked fairy tales and kindred reading; the more audacious and unreal it
was, the better satisfaction it gave me. With me everything was a sham; I
manifested no interest in real and live things. Nothing but the
namby-pamby appealed to me. I now think that if at that time I could have
been induced to exercise vigorously so as to get some good, red blood
coursing through my veins I might have been different.

In my case my literary taste was decidedly detrimental to me. Before one
has arrived at a discriminating age, he cannot sit down to every sort of
literary pabulum regardless of consequences. Many parents seem to think
the "Crack-went-the-ranger's-rifle-and-down-came-another-Redskin"
literature the only kind to be placed on the forbidden shelf. The
inspiration to go out and shoot pesky Indians is healthy and commendable
as compared with much other reading matter extant. Any literature that
warps the imagination and weakens the will should be placed on the tabooed
list. In my case, however, the best literature failed to meet with any
responses. Nothing was inclined to spur me into action. I did not care to
read of great exploits; they gave me mental unrest. Once I read that a
person by walking three hours a day would in seven years pass a space
equivalent to the circumference of the globe. This thought staggered me
and I