hind, the only two people in the world, aside from possibly Peter Thatcher, whom he loved. His father was a fine man. His mother was the world's best. What was he doing, abandoning them this way, making his mother cry? For an instant he wanted to jump off the train, to run back to them and cry, "I'm not going to college. I want to stay here with you."
But in the next moment he was asking himself if such weakness was worthy of a son of Old Tate. Imagine Chester Trask weeping as he set out for college! Harold's shoulders braced inside his sweater. As the train rolled out of Sanford, he stooped for an instant to gaze out of the window for a last glimpse of the little white Lamb house standing between Main Street and the tracks. Then he walked erectly into the smoking car and sat down.
On his way to college at last! Realizing the ambition and dream of a lifetime. He looked around at the laborers, traveling salesmen and other sojourners in the smoker with him and half expected them to crowd around him and congratulate him. Poor drab clods, little did they know the Paradise that awaited him at the end of his journey.
Uncle Peter had written that he would be unable to meet the sub-Freshman in Cleveland. He had, however, sent the promised
