TALKS WITH A KID BROTHER
world. Quit grinning and looking foolish. No. You needn't wear that resigned look of silent suffering either. I'm not going to preach to you against the danger of a swelled head. You fellows are keen enough about spotting symptoms of swelled head in one another. Sometimes you overdo the thing. Now, there was Chesty Chisholm.
A charming fellow; not prominent, like you—that's right, blush and dodge behind yourself—but a nice, normal chap, of more than average intelligence and breeding, who had an efficient sense of humor and therefore a fairly adequate appreciation of the mutual attitude and interrelations of himself and the universe. But he had an odd gait, carried his shoulders with a conceited swing, looked chesty. So they called him "Chesty."
This is a good illustration, by the way, of how some fellows get an undeserved reputation. He inherited this peculiarity from his father, class of 'sixty-something—his father was back here for a reunion one Commencement and we noticed that he walked
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