r what you study if you want
general culture. You can study French, or you can study German, or cut
them both out and study Esperanto, you'll get the culture tone just the
same. You can study Greek or Latin, too, for the same purpose, though it
will never be any use to you. It will be culture, though. Why, Ruth
studied Saxon, became clever in it,--that was two years ago,--and all
that she remembers of it now is 'Whan that sweet Aprile with his schowers
soote'--isn't that the way it goes?"

"But it's given you the culture tone just the same," he laughed, again
heading her off. "I know. We were in the same classes."

"But you speak of culture as if it should be a means to something," Ruth
cried out. Her eyes were flashing, and in her cheeks were two spots of
color. "Culture is the end in itself."

"But that is not what Martin wants."

"How do you know?"

"What do you want, Martin?" Olney demanded, turning squarely upon him.

Martin felt very uncomfortable, and looked entreaty at Ruth.

"Yes, what do you want?" Ruth asked. "That will settle it."

"Yes, of course, I want culture," Martin faltered. "I love beauty, and
culture will give me a finer and keener appreciation of beauty."

She nodded her head and looked triumph.

"Rot, and you know it," was Olney's comment. "Martin's after career, not
culture. It just happens that culture, in his case, is incidental to
career. If he wanted to be a chemist, culture would be unnecessary.
Martin wants to write, but he's afraid to say so because it will put you
in the wrong."

"And why does Martin want to write?" he went on. "Because he isn't
rolling in wealth. Why do you fill your head with Saxon and general
culture? Because you don't have to make your way in the world. Your
father sees to that. He buys your clothes for you, and all the rest.
What rotten good is our education, yours and mine and Arthur's and
Norman's? We're soaked in general culture, and if our daddies went broke
to-day, we'd be falling down to-morrow on teachers' examinations. The
best job you could get, Ruth, would be a country school or music teacher
in a girls' boarding-school."

"And pray what would you do?" she asked.

"Not a blessed thing. I could earn a dollar and a half a day, common
labor, and I might get in as instructor in Hanley's cramming joint--I say
might, mind you, and I might be chucked out at the end of the week for
sheer inability."

Martin followed the discuss