“Maybe they wouldn’t, but, so far as I know, it’s the only genuine dragon that has put up a genuine fight for the last couple of thousand years. So, my son, if you ever do go dragon-hunting, don’t forget that your father was the last of all the champions of valor who fought and defeated a dragon single-handed.”
“Then you really will let me go dragon-hunting with the Princeton crowd?” Perry interjected, returning to his first plea.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” his father answered meditatively, “and I don’t think I will. Wait a bit—” he continued, as he saw the bitter disappointment in the lad’s face, “I haven’t finished. I don’t say that I won’t let you go on a search for fossils some time, but I don’t think this Princeton expedition is the right thing for you. And I’ll tell you why.”
“I’m sure it would,” burst out Perry.
“I’ll tell you why,” his father said again, with that calm repetition from which the boy knew of old there was no appeal. “You would simply go as a helper, you wouldn’t have any real share in the plan, and you would only have a lot of dirty and laborious work to do without any real chance to learn.”
“But, Father,” interrupted the boy. He caught the glance of reproof and stopped.
“If you interrupt me again, Perry, I shall not say what I was going to say—and you’ll be the loser.”
Distinctly set back, Perry straightened himself and sat still. After a pause, his father continued:
“That book of drawings you showed me, son, which covered several years of work, looks to me like fairly good evidence that your interest is genuine. I want to be sure that it’s not just a fad, that you’ll tire of in a month or two.”
“Oh, it isn’t, Father!”