“No, I want to be an architect.”
“You never said anything about it before.”
“What’s the use of talking? Doesn’t look as if I would ever get the education to be one now.”
“Why, you can’t tell. Even if your father can’t send you, maybe you could work your own way–Mr. Clay has.” Chicken Little looked troubled; Sherm’s tone revealed a yearning she had not suspected.
348“Yes, I could work my way if I had the chance. I guess Father is never going to be well again and—” He paused for a moment as if it were hard to go on. “Even if he lives, I may have to keep at work to support the family. Mother never says anything, and Father never told me much about his business–I don’t know how much we have, but I’m afraid there isn’t a great deal left.”
There was a hopeless ring in his voice that hurt Chicken Little. She wanted to double up her fist and attack somebody or something in Sherm’s behalf.
“I think they–your mother ought to tell you.”
“Oh, Mother doesn’t realize I am most grown–she–she doesn’t think I amount to much I guess.” The boy had been brooding; his manhood affronted because he had not been permitted to share in the family councils.
“Don’t feel that way–she doesn’t mean to leave you out, Sherm. You know it’s awfully hard to write things and you have been away most a year.”
“That’s just it. I’ve been away most a year, and Mother doesn’t even hint at my coming back!”