They wear earth-colored canvas jackets and earth-colored knickerbockers
ending in crimson stockings, and I say to myself that they are the most
unpleasant-looking band of ruffians I have ever beheld. Nor are my
fond paternal eyes able to make a reservation in little Fred's favor on
this point. I have considerable difficulty, indeed, in distinguishing
him from his mates, though Josephine declares that she singled him out
the moment he appeared on the scene. He suggests to me a compromise
between a convict and a hod-carrier. Nevertheless, my eyes begin to
water as I follow his every movement, and my pulses throb eagerly. At
the same time I am impelled to link my arm affectionately in my son
David's, next to whom I am sitting. I cannot help wondering what he,
dear boy, is thinking of it all. He is perfectly healthy, but he is
slight, and will never be an athlete. His tastes do not run in that
direction. He graduated at school last summer next to the head of his
class, and it was no class of two, but of twenty times that number. We
were very proud of it, Josephine and I. We went to the exhibition and
saw him receive a number of prizes. It was a pleasant occasion, but
how trifling and insignificant were the plaudits he received compared
with the uproarious ovation accorded a successful half-back.
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