Upon me, Jack Craven, the despair of the professors, the terror of the watch, the--alas! you know only too well.

My tongue clave to the roof of my mouth, and before I could cry, 'Heaven forbid that I should have a hand in the making of your boy!' she accepted my pledge to do her desire for her young angel with the OTHER-angelic temper.
"And now, my dear Ned, is it for my sins that I am thus pursued?
What is awaiting me I know not.

What I shall do with the young cub I have not the ghostliest shadow of an idea.

Shall I begin by thrashing him soundly?
I have refrained so far; I hate the role of executioner.

Or shall I teach him boxing?
The gloves are a great educator, and are at times what the padre would call 'means of grace.' "But what will become of me?
Shall I become prematurely aged, or shall I become a saint?
Expect anything from your most devoted, but most sorely bored and perplexed, "J.