Joan and Peter: The story of an education

by H. G. Wells

§ 8

We underrate the disposition of youth to think for itself.

Oswald set himself to deliver this Valediction of his after dinner on Friday evening....

Joan was hesitating between a game of Demon Patience with Peter—in which she always played thirteen to his eleven and usually won in spite of the handicap—and an inclination for Bach’s Passacaglia upon the pianola in the study. Peter expressed himself ready for whatever she chose; he would play D.P. or read Moll Flanders—he had just discovered the delight of that greatest of all eighteenth century novels. He was sitting on the couch in the library and Joan was standing upon the hearthrug, regarding him thoughtfully, when Oswald came in. He stopped to hear what Peter was saying, with his one eye intent on Joan’s pretty gravity.

“No,” he interrupted. “This is my evening.

“You see,” he said, coming up to the fire; “I want to talk to you young people. I want to know some things—— I want to know what you make of life.... I want ... an exchange of views.”

He stood with his back to the fire and smiled at Joan’s grave face close to his own. “I’ve got to talk to you,” he said, “very seriously. It’s necessary.”

Having paralysed them by this preface he sat down in his deep armchair, pulled it an inch or so towards the fire, and leaning forward, with his eye on the spitting coals, began.

“I wish I could talk better, Joan and Peter.... I know I’ve never been a good talker—it’s been rather a loss between us all. And now particularly.... I want to talk.... You must let me get it out in my own way....

“You see,” he went on after a moment or so to rally his forces, “I’ve been your guardian, I’ve had your education and your affairs in my hands, for fifteen years. So far as the affairs go, Sycamore, you know—— We won’t go into that. That’s all plain sailing. But it’s the education I want to talk about—and your future. You are now both of age. Well past. You’re on the verge of twenty-five, Peter—in a month or so. You’re both off now—housekeeping. You’re dropping the pilot. It’s high time, I suppose....”