"No; just a plain, everyday engineer that runs machinery. I wish you'd
let me. There's no use in my going through college; I'm too stupid about
lots of things, and I never could make a decent doctor."
"What makes you think you could make a decent engineer?" the doctor
questioned keenly.
"Because I love it. I like wheels and beams and valves so much better
than I like syntax and subjunctives," he urged. "I'd be willing to work
for it, papa; it's interesting and it really counts for something, when
you get it done."
"Perhaps. Is it a new idea, Allyn?"
The boy shook his head.
"It's nearly as old as I am, I believe. Ever since I remember, I have
liked such things. I've watched them, whenever I had a chance, and when I
couldn't do that, I've looked at pictures of them. I don't suppose I
ought to have said anything about it, for I know you want to have me go
through college; but I hate my school, and I don't seem to get on any."
"But your marks were higher, last month, than they had been for a year."
"That was Cicely."
"Cicely?"
"Yes, she helped me. I was warned, and would have been conditioned; but
she found it out and went at me till she pulled me through. That was how
she found out about it."
"About what?"
"This."
"Then Cicely knows?"
"Yes; but nobody else. I let it out to her, one day, and she made me show
her my drawings.
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