“I’m going to work my way through college,” Jimmie declared.
“You are?” There was surprise in John’s voice, surprise and a new note of respect. “But I thought maybe——”
“That my father would send me? Most boys expect that, I guess. But I—well, I’d rather work,” Jimmie replied modestly.
“Well, old son,” John rumbled, “in that case you’ll have to learn how to choose.”
“Choose? Choose what?”
“Between things you might do. There are a lot of things in college. First there’s work. You say you don’t want to dodge that. Then there’s study, which you can’t dodge. Then there’s sports, football, baseball, tennis, everything. After that there’s social life, which means more or less, girls.
“I’m no beauty,” John laughed low, “but for every laddy there’s a lassie, and I might have gone in for that. But I didn’t. You have to choose. Choose—” his voice trailed off.
“I played baseball some,” he went on after a time. “Still can swing a fair to middling racket in tennis. Learned to beat a typewriter and did a stretch on the college paper. That’s how I got to be the way I am now, I guess. I——”
He broke off short to listen intently. “Thought I heard a car,” he murmured. “Must have been mistaken.”
“Did you like it?” Jimmie asked after a pause.