But Edgar has bounded down the stairs and left the Family to comfort each other with such observations as “He looks tired,” “I think that he has filled out a little,” or “I wonder if he’s studying too hard.”

You might stay in the coat-closet for the entire two weeks and not hear much more of Edgar than this.  His parents don’t.  They catch him as he is going up and down stairs and while he is putting the studs into his shirt, and are thankful for that.  They really get into closer touch with him while he is at college, for he writes them a weekly letter then.

Nerve-racking as this sort of life is to the youth who is supposed to be resting during his vacation, it might be even more wearing if he were to stay within the Family precincts.  Once in a while one of the parties for which he has been signed up falls through, and he is forced to spend the evening at home.  At first it is somewhat embarrassing to be thrown in with strangers for a meal like that, but, as the evening wears on, the ice is broken and things assume a more easy swing.  The Family begins to make remarks.

“You must stand up straighter, my boy,” says Father, placing his hand between Edgar’s shoulder-blades.  “You are slouching badly.  I noticed it as you walked down the street this morning.”

“Do all the boys wear soft-collared shirts like that?” asks Mother.  “Personally, I think that they look very untidy.  They are all right for tennis and things like that, but I wish you’d put on a starched collar when you are in the house.  You never see Elmer Quiggly wearing a collar like that.  He always looks neat.”

“For heaven’s sake, Eddie,” says Sister, “take off that tie.  You certainly do get the most terrific-looking things to put around your neck.  It looks like a Masonic apron.  Let me go with you when you buy your next batch.”

By this time Edgar has his back against the wall and is breathing hard.  What do these folks know of what is being done?

If it is not family heckling it may be that even more insidious trial, the third degree.  This is usually inflicted by semi-relatives and neighbors.  The formulae are something like this: 

“Well, how do you like your school?”

“I suppose you have plenty of time for pranks, eh?”

“What a good time you boys must have!  It isn’t so much what you get out of books that will help you in after life, I have found, but the friendships made in college.  Meeting so many boys from all parts of the country—­why, it’s a liberal education in itself.”

“What was the matter with the football team this season?”

“Let’s see, how many more years have you?  What, only one more!  Well, well, and I can remember you when you were that high, and used to come over to my house wearing a little green dress, with big mother-of-pearl buttons.  You certainly were a cute little boy, and used to call our cook ‘Sna-sna.’  And here you are, almost a senior.”