Free Warning Hill by John P. Marquand

watch?”
    â€œGone,” said Alfred Michael, “but the chain isn’t. The chain is for you. Take it and put it away, and don’t tell any one about it till to-morrow morning.”
    â€œYou mean,” said Tommy, “it will be a surprise?”
    â€œYes,” replied his father gravely, “probably. I want you to keep it safe until you are able to wear it. It’s a good gold chain. Perhaps when you look at it sometimes, you’ll remember what I’m going to tell you now.”
    Alfred Michael coughed, looked at Tommy and coughed again, and suddenly seized a tumbler from the table and drank the water in it very fast.
    â€œConfound it!” he said. “I’ve never done this sort of thing before. I—I’m hanged if I know exactly what to say—!”
    He paused and laughed, and though Tommy could see nothing to laugh at, he remembered that something had really amused his father, transiently but genuinely, none the less.
    â€œPromise me not to cry, will you, Tom? No matter what happens, give up crying. You’ve got to be a man.”
    â€œYes,” said Tommy. “Daddy, why don’t you want the chain?”
    â€œI’m tired of it,” Alfred Michael said. “You’ll probably get tired of it too, but don’t get as tired as I am. Don’t be a coward like me.”
    It was shocking to hear his father say such a thing. Tommy felt something rise within him—loyalty or love, he never knew just what—which made his face grow red, and made him want to cry.
    â€œHuh,” said Tommy. “You’re not afraid of anything, I guess.”
    Though Alfred Michael helped himself again to water, something was wrong with his voice.
    â€œCowards aren’t always afraid,” his father said. “Sometimes they’re tired. You’ll see some day what I mean, but that isn’t the point. The point is that you’ve got to be a man.”
    â€œI will be,” said Tommy, “just like you.”
    â€œNo, you won’t,” his father spoke very quickly. “Listen, Tom. Put that chain in your pocket and listen, like a good boy. You’ve got to be a man who gets on in the world, who can understand it and—not struggle like a poor spoiled child. You’ll see what I mean some day. You’ll have to put away the long, long thoughts and be like most men who’ve never had them. Be a hard man, Tom, but a good one. Do you see what I mean? And be an educated man. I want you to go to college, and you’ll find that the hardest thing of all. Nothing shows life in a worse light than knowledge, but you’ll be better if you’re strong enough to stand it, and you’ll be strong enough. You’ll have to be. I’m not so sure that everything doesn’t depend on necessity. I wonder, if anything had ever seemed halfway necessary to me, I suppose I might—but never mind—”
    â€œDaddy,” said Tommy, “what’s necessity?”
    â€œGod bless me!” cried Alfred Michael. “That’s exactly what you’re going to find out. Tom, you don’t look badly with that eye. I guess that’s all.”
    â€œAll of what?” said Tommy, because he could not understand.
    â€œAll of everything,” said Alfred Michael. “There isn’t much to everything and that’s all,” and Alfred Michael slapped him on the back hard, as if he were a man. “You know,” he looked Tommy in the eye and smiled very cheerfully. “I’m not so sure it all isn’t going to be the best thing for you. I tried like every other idiot of a parent to build you an umbrella and to put packing around you. I’m not so sorry now I didn’t. Don’t ask me why. You’ll see what I mean. You’re going to go in and lick ’em, Tom. Remember I told you so. Remember I never said you couldn’t. Remember some things stay bright, Tom, no