ee it as it is, in the raw, not beautiful when it is not
beautiful. I want the truth--all the truth, Roger, the rough and the
ugly where it _is_ rough and ugly. You say you've made me a man,
taught me to think fine thoughts, given me a good mind and a strong
body, but all the while you were sheltering me, saving me--from what?
What good are my mind and body if they aren't strong enough to be put
to the test of life and survive it?"

He was much agitated.

"I have no fear to put you to any test--today, tomorrow," I said
quietly.

"Then put me to it--out there." With a wave of his arm he cried: "I
must see for myself, think for myself."

"You shall, Jerry, soon. Will you be patient a little while longer?"

He controlled himself with an effort and bent forward in his chair,
bringing his head down into his hands.

"It's hard. I feel like a coward, a coward--not taking my share--"

"Ah," I said suddenly, "_she_ called you that?"

"Yes. If she had been a man I should have thrashed her. But in a
moment I knew that she had spoken the truth."

"But Jerry, a coward is one who is afraid. How could you be afraid of
something you didn't know about?"

"But I know now. She told me very little, Roger, but I've guessed the
rest."

He went on in this vein for awhile and at last grew calmer. And the
result of it all was a promise on my part to answer more frankly all
his questions, to subscribe to two newspapers and some magazines, and
to begin on the morrow a course of reading which would prepare the way
for his contact with the world. He seemed satisfied and at last went
to bed with his old cheery "Good night, Dry-as-dust."

After all, I had gotten out of it well enough. Only a few months
remained for him within the wall and with the exception of the
newspapers, my plans for him were really little changed. I may as well
confess at once that my delay in broadening his point of view was
selfish. I had made such a beautiful thing that I was as proud of it
as any painter of his masterpiece. Until the present moment I had been
true to my own ideals. What was to follow must be a concession to
convention.

But I entered frankly enough into the new scheme of things and set
Jerry a course in modern fiction in books carefully chosen and before
the summer was gone and the autumn far advanced Jerry had read at
least a shelf-full of volumes. He went through them avidly and asked
few questions. Love between the sexes he now accepted