"Mrs. Clarkson, Bob is on his way home from swimming, and I thought I would let him hear about that wonderful dream—"
But the door was slammed in my face.
I said at the opening of this sketch that I "had" a boy named Bob. God be thanked, I have him yet, and no lustier, brighter, or more manly youth ever lived, and my prayer is that he may be spared to soothe the declining years of his father and mother, whose love for him is beyond the power of words to tell.
A FOOL OR A GENIUS.
CHAPTER I.
Josiah Hunter sat on his porch one summer afternoon, smoking his pipe, feeling dissatisfied, morose and sour on account of his only son Tim, who, he was obliged to confess to himself, gave every indication of proving a disappointment to him.