I asked him if the story that he had built his growth and strength on it was a fake.

“Yes.  I never ate ‘Best o’ Wheat’ in my life, except once or twice,” he answered, “I like only natural food ... vegetables ... and lots of milk ... but I draw the line at prepared, pre-digested stuff and baled breakfast foods.”

“Then why did you lend them the use of your name?”

“Oh, everybody that has any prominence does that ... for a price ... but I really didn’t want to do it.  ‘John’ made me ... or I wouldn’t have.”

“And now you have your hair cropped close, why is that?”

“I suppose it’s all right to wear your hair long ... but, last summer, it got so damned hot with the huge mop I had, that I always had a headache ... so one day I went down town to the barber and slipped into his chair.  ‘Hello, Hank,’ says he, ‘what do you want, a shave?’ (joking you know—­I didn’t have but one or two cat-hairs on my face)....

“‘No, Jim, I want a hair-cut.’  At first he refused ... said ’The Master’ would bite his head off ... but then he did it—­

“John wouldn’t speak to me that night, at table ... but the other fellows shouted and clapped....

“I don’t exactly get dad’s idea all the time ... he’s a mighty clever man, though....

“Books?  Oh, yes ... the only ones I care about are those on Indians and Indian lore ...  I have all the Smithsonian Institution books on the subject ... and I have a wigwam back of the bindery—­haven’t you noticed it?—­where I like to go and sit cross-legged and meditate ... no, I don’t want to study regular things.  Dad always makes me give in, in fact, whenever I act stubborn, by threatening to send me off to a regular school....

“No, I want nothing else but to work with my hands all my life.”

* * * * *

But, with all his thinking for himself, “Hank” was also childishly vulgar.  He gulped loudly as he ate, thinking it an evidence of hearty good-fellowship.  And he deliberately broke wind at the table ... then would rap on wood and laugh....

I, on my dignity as cook, and because the others, rough as they were, complained to me in private about this behaviour, but did not openly speak against it because “Hank” was their employer’s son.  I took exception to the good-natured “lummox’s” behaviour.

One morning he was the last to climb out from over the bench at the rough, board table....

“Hank ... wait.  I want to speak to you a minute.”

“Yes, Razorre, what is it?” he asked, waiting....

“Hank, the boys have delegated me to tell you that you must use better manners than you do, at meals.”

“The hell you say! and what are you going to do if I don’t?”

“I—­why, Hank, I hadn’t thought of that ... but, since you bring up the question, I’m going to try to stop you, if you won’t stop yourself.”

“—­think you can?—­think you’re strong enough?”