"I have seen so little of him, myself," continued the colonel. "He is at school and he will go to college, but a boy needs more than school and college can give him—he needs a hand to guide his thoughts and fancies, and liberty, in which they may unfold. He needs developing in a way in which no school or college can develop him. I would have him see nature, and learn her lessons; see men and things, and know how to discern and appreciate. I would have him a little different—wider shall I say?—than the mere stereotyped public-school and varsity product—admirable as it is. I would have him cultured, but not a worshipper of culture, to the neglect of those deeper qualities without which culture is a mere husk.
"I would have him athletic, but not of those who deify athletics.
"Above all, I would have him such a gentleman as only he can be who realises that the privilege of good birth is in no way due to indigenous merit."
He paused, and for a while we smoked in silence.
"He will, of course, be away at school for the greater part of each year. But if you, dear friends, would undertake—in turn, if you will—to supervise his holidays, I should be more than grateful. We grown men regard our life in terms—a boy punctuates his, by holidays—and it is in them, that I would beg of you to influence him for good."
He turned to the poet.
"Tommy," he said, "has, I feel sure, a deeply imaginative nature, and I am by no means certain that he is not poetical. In fact, I believe he once wrote something about a star, which was really quite creditable—quite creditable."
The poet looked a little bewildered.
"And I believe that Tommy has scientific bents"—the colonel looked at the doctor, who bowed silently.