[THE FATHER OF A HERO]
The Hero sat in the window-seat, and nursed his knee and frowned. He was rather young to be a hero, he lacked a month of being twenty; he looked eighteen. He had a round face, with a smooth, clear skin, over which spring suns had spread an even coat of tan that was wonderfully becoming. His eyes were blue, and his hair was as near yellow as hair ever is. For the rest, he was of medium height, slim, and well-built. His name was James Gill Robinson, Jr. Throughout college he was known as “Rob”; on the baseball diamond, the players, according him the respect due a superior, called him “Cap.” His father, with the privilege of an extended acquaintance, called him “Jimmie.”
The father leaned back in a dark-green Morris chair, one gray-gaitered foot swinging and his right thumb reposing between the second and third buttons of his white vest. This was a habit with the thumb, and meant that Mr. James Gill Robinson, Sr., was speaking of weighty matters, and with authority. The father was well this side of fifty and, like his son, looked younger than he was, for which an admirable complexion was to be thanked. He wore side-whiskers, and the brows above the sharp blue eyes were heavy and lent emphasis to the aggressive character of the lower part of his face. But if he was aggressive he was also fair-minded, and if he was obstinate he was kind-hearted as well; and none of these are bad qualities in a lawyer. And of course he was smart, too; as the father of James Gill Robinson, Jr., he couldn’t have been anything else.
Through the open window the length of the Yard was visible, intensely green and attractively cool. Fellows with straw hats adorned with fresh new bands of all colors and combinations of colors, fellows flannel-trousered and vestless, lounged on the grass or intersected the verdant, tree-shaded oblong, bearing tennis racquets or baseball bats. It was mid-June, warm, clear, and an ideal Saturday.
The Hero turned from a brief survey of the outside world and faced his father again, listening respectfully to the latter’s remarks, but quite evidently taking exception to the gist of them. At length he was moved to defense.
“But look here, dad, seems to me the showing I made last year proves that I haven’t neglected study.”
“That’s not the point, sir. I’ll acknowledge that you—ah—did uncommonly well last year. I was proud of you. We all were. And I take it for granted that you will do equally well, if not better, this year. I expect it. I won’t have anything else, sir! But you don’t gather my meaning. This is an old subject of controversy between us, Jimmie, and it does seem to me that by this time you should have come to an understanding of the position I take. But you haven’t; that’s clear, sir, and so I’ll state it once more.”
He paused, and glanced at a massive gold watch.