"John," I wavered, "you _are_ a great man ... a much greater man than
you allow yourself to be ... I'm--I'm going away from here forever, this
time ... and I--I want you to know how I reverence and love the bigness
in you, in spite of our--our differences."
He was pleased.
"And so you're going to college somewhere?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
I had talked much of college being my next aim.
"Either the University of Chicago, or further west."
"I can give you commutation as far as Chicago."
"I cannot accept it."
"You must, Razorre."
* * * * *
A week from then I left.
I went up to Mrs. Tighe's room to say good-bye. Awkwardly and with the
bearlike roughness of excessive timidity I put my arms about her, drew
her to me tentatively.
"Be careful, poet dear, or you'll hurt me," she warned, giving me a look
of fondness. Her left arm was in a sling. She had fallen on the steps a
few days before and had broken a small bone in the wrist. "My sweet
poet!"
The bandaged arm being in the way, I put my head down in her lap again,
as she sat there on the edge of the great, white bed.
She leaned over, turned my face up with her free hand, kissed me full in
the mouth....
"My sweet poet," she repeated, "good-bye!"
* * * * *
While at Mt. Hebron I had chosen German as my modern language.
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