"Perhaps it might. Personally I believe in every one's exercising his own judgment."
"And I tell you the girls nowadays have plenty of it," asserted Roger. "I know lots of girls; there are twenty of them in my class at the high school and I don't see but they're just as sensible as we boys and most of them are a heap smarter in their lessons."
"Helen seems to think as you do, at any rate."
"I'm going to stand up for Helen," declared Roger. "I'll be out of college a couple of years before she is and if she wants to study anything special or do anything special I'll surely help her to it."
"Your father's not likely to object to anything that she will want to do."
"Probably not, only," returned Roger hesitating, "perhaps dear old Dad will need a little education himself after being in Mexico and suchlike foreign parts for so long."
The path which they were following ran along the top of a bank that rose abruptly from the water. On the other side of the roadway were pretty cottages rather larger than most of those at Chautauqua.
"In this house we're passing," said Roger, "there lives the grandest sight in Chautauqua. I see him almost every time I go by. Look, there he is now."
He was a bull dog of enormous head and fiercest visage, his nose pushed back, his teeth protruding, his legs bowed. Belying his war-like aspect he was harnessed to a child's express wagon which was loaded with milk cans and baskets.
"Isn't that a great old outfit!" exclaimed Roger. "He goes to market every morning as solemn as a judge. His name is Cupid."