“I will be a man!” I exclaimed.

* * * * *

I became a frequent visitor at the Doctor’s, and gradually learned more and more of this remarkable man.  His little daughter told me much that I could never have guessed.  She was a very serious child, perhaps of eleven years, and not very attractive.  In fact, she was ugly, but her gravity seemed somehow to suit her so well that I could by no means dislike down a pipe with a long stem, and began to stuff the bowl with tobacco which I saw was very black; while he was doing so, I recognized on the pipe the carven image of an idol.

“Yes,” he said; “I see no good in changing.”

I did not say anything to this speech; I did not know what he meant.

He went to his desk, took my father’s letter from a drawer, and handed it to me.  I read:—­

“My dear sir:  Pardon the liberty I take in writing to you.  My son, who is under your charge in part, causes me great uneasiness.  I need not say to you that he has a mind above the average—­you will have already discovered this; but I wish to say that his mind has passed through strange experiences and that possibly he must—­though God forbid—­go through more of such.  A friend of mine has convinced me that you can help my boy.

     Yours very truly, “Jones Berwick, Sr.”

When I had read this letter, it came upon me that it was strange, especially in its abrupt ending.  I looked at the Doctor and offered the letter to him.

“No,” said he; “keep it; put it in your pocket.”

I did as he said, and waited.  For a short time Dr. Khayme sat with the amber mouthpiece of his pipe between his lips; his eyes were turned from me.

He rose, and put his pipe back on the mantel; then turning toward me, and yet standing, he looked upon me gravely, and said very slowly, “I do not think it advisable to ask you to tell me what the mental experiences are to which your father alludes; it may be best that you should not speak of them; it may be best that you should not think of them.  I am sure that I can help you; I am sure that your telling me your history could not cause me to help you more.”

I was silent.  The voice of the man was grave, and low, and sweet.  I could see no expression in his face.  His dark eyes seemed fixed on me, but I felt that he was looking through me at something beyond.

Again he spoke.  “I think that what you need is to exert your will.  I can help you to do that.  You are very receptive; you have great will-power also, but you have not cultivated that power.  This is a critical time in your life.  You are becoming a man.  You must use your will.  I can help you by making you see that you can use your will, and that the will is very powerful—­that your will is very powerful.  He who has confidence in his own will-power will exert it.