FLAMING
YOUTH
153
“Well,” answered the physician judicially, “it might be diphtheria or it might be scarlet fever, but I think it’s that guilty feeling that comes of telling lies about itself. Your throat is no more sore than my pipe.” “I know it isn’t,” admitted the unabashed Pat.
“But
Tm kind of wrong inside. Way-way inside, I mean.” “The patient must be more specific if the physician is to be of use.” “Bobs, am I a fool?” “I suppose so. Most people are.”
“Am I a dam’ fool?” “As to degree we come to a consideration of definition which & “Mr. Scott thinks I am.” “Hello! Who’s making this diagnosis? Cary Scott, or you, or I?” “Do you think I ought to go to college?”
“Too late. You couldn’t get in now, thanks to that infernal, mind-coddling, brain-softening school of yours.” “It isn’t! I love the school. They let you do whatever you like.” “Which
is, of course, the best possible course
for a
finished product like you.” “Oh, well! Who cares? I don’t.” “Then why come to me?” “TI don’t think I’m getting everything cut of—of things that I might,” said Pat plaintively. “That’s the beginning of wisdom. Why this divine discontent? Have the movies begun to pall?” “Oh, have you seen Doug Fairbanks in his last? He’s too flawless.” “Evidently they haven’t begun to pall. If I could be assured of its being his last I would gladly go to see the too-flawless Doug. But my dull artistic appreciations
