I've come to the conclusion that there is something to this college business. None of the Lambs or Thatchers have ever been to college. And they've missed something—something that money can't buy. So I've decided that maybe I'll help you go to this Tate and see what happens."
Harold's mouth was half-open in utter surprise. He kept his wide eyes fixedly upon his uncle, fearful that he was not seeing and hearing aright.
"Now, what I propose to do," Peter Thatcher went on, assuming a crisp, businesslike air, "is first to see whether or not you think enough of college to work for the right to go. By the way, could you still get into this Tate place? You graduated from High School, didn't you? Isn't too late, is—"
"Oh, no!" Harold broke in. "My high school graduation certificate will admit me to Tate all right, Professor Gaines says. Any time up to the tenth of September is early enough to send it in. They've built a lot of new dormitories and other improvements there, the Tate 'Tattler' says, and are ready for everybody that wants to come."
"H'mm. Don't sound very exclusive," commented the steel manufacturer. Then he got down to business again. "Now, looka here, Harold: I like this washing machine
