Page 65 - The Adventures of a Freshman

Charlie never had ambitions for higher education. "Lucky Charlie!" thought Will, remembering how he used
to look down on him.

"They must make you study a lot, though!" Charlie added, looking at Will's face.

Mr. Young disappeared for a few minutes into the next room; when he returned he interrupted the
conversation with, "By the way, mother, Will says he don't think he'll go back there to school any more."

Mrs. Young did not want the matter discussed just now, for she saw a pained look come over Will's face at the
mention of it. "Whatever he does," she said, in her bright, quick manner, "he must get well and strong and
happy again. Cheer up, Will, cheer up, look happy--my goodness! just see his face," she went on laughing.
"Don't you know you're home, anyway, boy?"

Yes, he was home, anyway. But what a way it was; not very much like the proud homecoming he had pictured
long ago.

Mr. Young did not like to be switched off the subject. He went on, in a queer tone: "Yes, I thought you'd come
around to my way of thinking. I thought you'd get tired of putting yourself through college, as you called it. I
ain't surprised, not a bit."

Will did not feel piqued or indignant. He only asked himself how much longer he would wait before telling
them all that he, William Young, son of his father, member of the church, and the boy who had his tuition
remitted in consequence of a "high moral character," was a gambler and a thief, and was liable to be exposed
as such at any moment. Even now at this hour somebody there in the East might be making inquiries as to his
whereabouts.

This load was becoming more than he could bear. Why not tell them all, right then and there, and have it over
with? "Listen, father," said Will, his voice breaking a little. "You little understand the meaning of my actions.
Listen, everybody. I have something important to say."

"Shissh, Will, keep quiet, you're nervous," interrupted his mother. "Father, don't let the poor boy try to talk.
He's sick. He's all wrought up; look at him."

"But I must explain--I will explain. You all must know. Now listen: the reason I'm not going back--the reason
I had to study so— "

"Keep still, Will," said his father, in a grave tone; "you needn't go on. I know all about it."

Will's heart stood still.

"You know all about it, father?"

"Yes, the minister told us how hard you were working for the prize. And we read in the Chicago papers that
another boy won it--- "

"Oh, you don't understand; you don't know why I needed to win it. You don't know anything about
it--anything about it."

"Yes, yes, I do, Will," said Mr. Young, fumbling in his pocket for something, "yes, I do."

Mrs. Young put in excitedly: "It was because you had to have the money to go back next year. That was the
reason you worked yourself nearly into the grave and wrote such short, irregular letters home and--- "