topkilgour0807

@@@@@The water colors, the books like Little Lord Fauntleroy and Ivanhoe and Oliver Twist are far less important; he never misses themThrough the years there he gets the best marks in his class, becomes a minor athlete, No3 man on the tennis teamLike his father, he is respected if he is not loved And the crushes of course: he stands by his bunk at Saturday morning inspection, rigidly upright, clicking his heels as the colonel headmaster comes byThe suite of officer-teachers pass, and he waits numbly for the cadet colonel, a tall dark-haired youth Cummings, the cadet colonel says Your web belt has verdigris in the eyeletsAnd he watches him go, shuttling between anguish and a troubled excitement because he has been noticedA subterranean phenomenon, for he takes no part in the special activities pertinent to a boys' private school, is almost conspicuous by his avoidance Nine years of it, the ascetic barracks, and the communal sleeping, the uniform-fears, the equipment-fears, the marching-tensions, and the meaningless vacationsHe sees his parents for six weeks each summer, finds them strange, feels distant toward his brotherCyrus Cummings bores him now with her nostalgia Remember, Eddie, when we went out to the hill and painted? Yes, Mother He graduates as cadet colonel At home he makes a little stir in his uniformThe people know he is going to West Point, and he is pointed out to the young girls, to whom he is polite and indifferentHe is handsome now, not too tall, but his build is respectable, and his face has an intelligent scrubbed lookWell, Son, you're ready for West Point, eh? Yes, sir, I expect soGlad you went to military school? Tried to do the best I could, sirWest Point pleases himHe has decided long ago that little Matthew Arnold can carry on the bank, and this strange stiff son in the uniform is best away from homeGood idea sending you there, Cyrus saysHis mind is blank, but a powerful anxiety stirs along his spineHis palms are always wet when he talks to his fathe