After all, remember you're only eighteen. You'll
probably spend part of your time rushing around at class proms with a
red ribbon in your coat lapel to show you're on the floor committee.
And you'll be girl-fussing, too. But you'd be attracted to girls, in
or out of college, and I'd rather, just now, that it would be some
pretty, nice-thinking college girl in a white sweater and a blue serge
skirt, whose worst thought was wondering if you could be cajoled into
taking her to the Freshman-Sophomore basketball game, than some red-
lipped, black-jet-earringed siren gazing at you across the table in
some basement cafe. And, goodness knows, Jock, you wear your clothes
so beautifully that even the haberdashers' salesmen eye you with
respect. I've seen 'em. That's one course you needn't take at
college."
Jock sat silent, his face grave with thought. "But when I'm earning
money--real money--it's off the road for you," he said, at last. "I
don't want this to sound like a scene from East Lynne, but, mother--"
"Um-m-m-m--ye-ee-es," assented Emma McChesney, with no alarming
enthusiasm.
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