Back in the depths of Dr. McAlister's eyes, there came an expression which, under other conditions, might have developed into a smile. The boy's tone was anxious and pleading, out of all proportion to the gravity of his subject; but Dr. McAlister wisely forbore to smile. All his life, he had made it his rule never to laugh at the earnestness of his children, but to treat it with the fullest respect.
"A civil engineer?" he asked, thinking that Allyn was attracted by the profession of his brother-in-law.
"No; just a plain, everyday engineer that runs machinery. I wish you'd let me. There's no use in my going through college; I'm too stupid about lots of things, and I never could make a decent doctor."
"What makes you think you could make a decent engineer?" the doctor questioned keenly.
"Because I love it. I like wheels and beams and valves so much better than I like syntax and subjunctives," he urged. "I'd be willing to work for it, papa; it's interesting and it really counts for something, when you get it done."
"Perhaps. Is it a new idea, Allyn?"
The boy shook his head.
"It's nearly as old as I am, I believe. Ever since I remember, I have liked such things. I've watched them, whenever I had a chance, and when I couldn't do that, I've looked at pictures of them. I don't suppose I ought to have said anything about it, for I know you want to have me go through college; but I hate my school, and I don't seem to get on any."
"But your marks were higher, last month, than they had been for a year."
"That was Cicely."