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THE PASSING OF A BOY
A Father Gives Up His Only
Chum His Son.
"Well, boy, we've been good
friends, you and I, haven't we?"
O "Yes, indeed, father, and we're
going to keep on being so."
"Oh, certainly," replied the
father, "I was just thinking,
though, that it has been a long
time since we've been apart. And,
it has also been a long time since
I used to sit on the edge of your
"bed nights and tell you of a man
who had a boy for a chum, and of
how the man loved and cared for
the boy just as though he were
. both father and mother."
f "You were the man and I the
boy," answered the son. "Yot;
thought I didn't know, but I did.
Dear old dad."
"And tomorrow you start for
college, son. That means the
end, the end of it all."
"No! There will be no last"
chapter as long as we both live,"
the son replied. "Why, you are
all that I have. You are father
and mother and brother and sis
ter. .We'll always be the same
old chums. It can't be any other
"Perhaps, and yet you are go
fe ing away; my boy is 'going
' r The people of the little town of
' Greenfield were wont to look
upon Henry Warden as a' dream
er, as a man of little account in
a business and professional way,
and as a queer, odd parent, pos
sessing a quaint and peculiar
fondness for his son. It was said
that he had tried to keep the lat
ter a boy. The attachment was
regarded as strong, and yet few,
if any, realized its all consuming
strength, particularly on the part
of the father.
Warden was a lawyer, although
he had displayed no particular in
clination for his work in recent
years. An affectionate and home
loving mari, he had," since the
death of his wife, been both
father and mother to the son, as
best he could.
"Boy," said the elder Warden,'
continuing the conversation,
"when you were a little fellow
your every ache and pain was a
real ache and pain to nle. And
later on, when you were hurt at
foot hall, that time, as you lay
suffering, I suffered, too. When
you won honors, I shared the
glory with you. Your joys and1
sorrows have been my joys and
sorrows. You have been life, itself
to me and you are going away."
"Ohy father, please, please
don't. I wont go."
"I know," slid the father, "that
a man of any strength would
never express such thoughts,
even if he had them". I want you
to go. to college. It has been as
mudh my ambition as yours. You
must go! I want you to learn
how to get on' for yourself. I am
weak, very weak, so weak that I
willingly hurt by telling what it
means to say goodby." n
'Even if that's true, we've al
ways shared things before; whyj
not this?" asked the son, jt A: , ,