I've watched you make him over. And now, when his big
chance has come, you--"
"I don't expect you to understand," interrupted Emma McChesney a
little wearily. "I know it sounds crazy and unreasonable. There's
only one sort of human being who could understand what I mean.
That's a woman with a son." She laughed a little shamefacedly.
"I'm talking like the chorus of a minor-wail sob song, but it's
the truth."
"If you feel like that, Emma, tell him to stay. The boy wouldn't
go if he thought it would make you unhappy."
"Not go!" cried Emma McChesney sharply. "I'd like to see him dare
to refuse it!"
"Well then, what in--" began Buck, bewildered.
"Don't try to understand it, T.A. It's no use. Don't try to poke
your finger into the whirligig they call 'Woman's Sphere.' Its
mechanism is too complicated. It's the same quirk that makes women
pray for daughters and men for sons. It's the same kink that makes
women read the marriage and death notices first in a newspaper.
It's the same queer strain that causes a mother to lavish the most
love on the weakest, wilfullest child. Perhaps I wouldn't have
loved Jock so much if there hadn't been that streak of yellow in
him, and if I hadn't had to work so hard to dilute it until now
it's only a faint cream color.
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