he father to the man may be taken in a sense almost the reverse of that
usually given to it. The child is father to the man in the sense that
his individuality is separate from the individuality of the grown-up
into which he turns. This is perhaps one reason why a man can speak of
his childhood and early youth with a sense of detachment.

Having been a sickly boy, with no natural bodily prowess, and having
lived much at home, I was at first quite unable to hold my own when
thrown into contact with other boys of rougher antecedents. I was
nervous and timid. Yet from reading of the people I admired--ranging
from the soldiers of Valley Forge, and Morgan's riflemen, to the heroes
of my favorite stories--and from hearing of the feats performed by my
Southern forefathers and kinsfolk, and from knowing my father, I felt a
great admiration for men who were fearless and who could hold their
own in the world, and I had a great desire to be like them. Until I
was nearly fourteen I let this desire take no more definite shape than
day-dreams. Then an incident happened that did me real good. Having an
attack of asthma, I was sent off by myself to Moosehead Lake. On the
stage-coach ride thither I encountered a couple of other boys who
were about my own age, but very much more competent and also much more
mischievous. I have no doubt they were good-hearted boys, but they were
boys! They found that I was a foreordained and predestined victim, and
industriously proceeded to make life miserable for me. The worst feature
was that when I finally tried to fight them I discovered that either one
singly could not only handle me with easy contempt, but handle me so as
not to hurt me much and yet to prevent my doing any damage whatever in
return.

The experience taught me what probably no amount of good advice could
have taught me. I made up my mind that I must try to learn so that I
would not again be put in such a helpless position; and having become
quickly and bitterly conscious that I did not have the natural prowess
to hold my own, I decided that I would try to supply its place by
training. Accordingly, with my father's hearty approval, I started to
learn to box. I was a painfully slow and awkward pupil, and certainly
worked two or three years before I made any perceptible improvement
whatever. My first boxing-master was John Long, an ex-prize-fighter. I
can see his rooms now, with colored pictures of the fights between Tom
Hyer and Yanke