This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1919 edition. Excerpt: ... THY SON LIVETH Every evening when I am at home, —and I am staying at home rather closely these days, knitting interminable skeins of gray yarn into socks for the boys in the trenches, —I go up into Bob's room and browse around among his traps and finger his tobacco-smelling clothes in the foolish way of mothers. A man's room is a queer place—when the man has gone. This one, across the hall from mine, is the one Bob chose for himself when he was graduated from the nursery. It was not his first choice. With the announcement that he no longer wanted to be watched over at night, he selected and preempted the guest chamber in the farthest part of the house and moved in with his dog and a guinea pig. He put in the night there, too, without a whimper. But in the morning he informed me that he felt he ought to be near me in case I needed bis help. He moved: and the room is 1 one volume of his history from the day he was five years old. A record of his progress from that time until the bugles called him away. His books in the shelves range from Mother Goose Tales to Kant and his clan of thinkers, and up to what Morse planted and Marconi made to blossom. The last named are the thumbed books. Bob took to telegraphy as a spark takes to the air wave. He was one of the first to raise a wireless mast from the top of his home and, of course, I had to study and experiment with him. He bullied me into learning the code and being the party of the second part to take his messages. Looking back upon this now, I am impressed with the methods that are used by the Destiny that shapes our ends. Had it not been for that inkling of the science of telegraphy which I gained in our play I should not have heard a message that—but of this I will speak further. It was.
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