Chapter I

"That's just what I'll do for you, Hal. I'll write to this Uncle Sam person and get him to give you one of his letter treatments," said Mr. Allen, Hal's daddy.

Jo Allen was so young that his incorrigible young son called him by his first name and regarded him as "one of the fellers" instead of a father; consequently he thought his own judgment as reliable as his Dad's and paid as much heed to his orders and requests as he would to one of the "fellers."

"Thunder! I ain't sick. What I gotter have a treatment for?"

"I didn't mean anything like paregoric, or milk and eggs and a teaspoonful of this in half a glass of water after meals. It seems to be something like this: an old man, calling himself 'Uncle Sam,' advertises in the _Times_ that he will write fatherly letters to difficult boys for $50.00 a course."

"Aw, Jo! I swear, I bet it's a lot of stuff about 'do unto others.'" Hal always objected to other people's suggestions.

"Well, we'll take a chance on it. You don't like my methods, if you can call 'em that. You are my first and only offspring and I don't seem to have much maternal instinct and no judgment where you are concerned. Son, it is as hard for you not to have your mother as it is for me not to have my wife."

"It's all right, Jo, you know more 'bout being a father than I do 'bout being a son. But bring on your Uncle Sam and we can see what will happen. I don't have to read the letters if he writes a lot of rot."

"Nine o'clock! I ought to be at the office and and you ought to be at school. Don't play hookey again to-day," Jo Allen said as he reached for his hat.

Jo was a corporation lawyer and when he told the other members of his firm about his latest plans for bringing up his son, they all laughed.

"What next, Jo? 'Sons put on the right path by mail.' It's a joke all right and so are you and Hal. You can't do a thing with that kid! When he stole the preacher's white horse and painted 'Hell' on it you just laughed. Why don't you beat him up a little?" inquired Jones good-naturedly.

"But he is not downright bad, he is just mischievous and full of life. I can't do anything to him because it is all just what I used to do when I was a kid,--behold the monument!"

"He looks so much like you that I always think something has happened to the clock and it is twenty years ago whenever I see him. He's got your snappy grey eyes and black hair and Sally's Greek instead of our honored partner's 'Roaming.'"

Jo was always pleased when it was said that his son looked like him, for he knew that they were both of them extremely goodlooking. And, too, he was secretly proud of his slightly Roman nose, which did add a certain air of distinction to such a young man.

He dictated a letter to Uncle Sam and two days later Hal got the first installment.

"Dear Hal:

"When I was a boy of twelve, just your age, I had
just about the reputation you have. But my father
had a family of seven children, of which I was the
youngest, so when I cut up he knew just what to do
with me. He realized that I had a great deal of
surplus energy and having no good way of working
it off, I always got into mischief and sometimes
into rather serious trouble.

"Your Dad told me about your stealing the
minister's horse and putting a large red 'Hell' on
one of his sides. When I was a boy I remember that
I made a bomb out of a little powder and an old
sock and put it under the porch of a Negro church
(Hal, as man to man, I trust you not to try this
stunt). Of course I stayed to watch the fun. I
thought the fuse was longer than it was and came
closer to adjust it--Bang! and I was left with no
eyebrows. I was too scared to run and the darkeys
began to pour out, threatening darkly as to the
future welfare of my soul. They caught me and took
me to the county lockup. That evening my brother
came and bailed me out. My father asked me where
my eyebrows were, and I said, 'I reckon part of
them are by the Nigger church.' Of course he
gradually got the details and a very thick silence
followed. Then he told me just what I am going to
tell you. But first,--Hal, don't you think it's
funny what a passion all boys have to torment the
parsons of both the white and black race? I do.

"Dad said that I needed to be kept busy and with
something that gave me pleasure. He was never
strong on punishment and he suggested something
that pleased me mightily. He said that if I would
build a canoe and a pair of paddles by the last of
May he would give me and three of my friends a
camp for two weeks by the river. I was glad my
eyebrows were gone, for who doesn't like to camp?

"Now, Son, you ask your dad if he won't make this
same agreement. You have a month to do it in and I
reckon you can have a dandy canoe made by that
time.

"Let me know what Mr. Allen says.

"Sincerely,
"UNCLE SAM."

Hal looked over the letter at his daddy and thought a minute. Then he said: "Jo, this here Uncle Sam ain't so worse. Here's a pretty decent thought that rattled out of his head." Mr. Allen took the letter and read it and then he, too, thought a minute.

"I'm on, Son," he said, "and you can have your friends to help you."

"All right! Then shall I write and tell our darling Unkil that it's a go?"

And this was the letter Uncle Sam got from the "wayward youth he was trying to straighten out":

"Mr. Uncle Sam,
---- Building,
New York.

"Dear Uncle S.:

"Yours of the inst. rec'd., first. Jo--that's my
dad and He's a peach too let me tell you--says
your idea suits him fine and anyway he always goes
to New York the first two weeks in June on
business and then I have to stay with Aunt Maria
at Sunny Glen and I hate it because she is so
clean. I hate to milk too and she is so afraid
I'll get drowned when I swim in the icepond. She
is a terrible nut because I can swim fine. I've
got a monogram for my sweater for swimming at the
Y. M. C. A. pool and that's bigger and deeper than
old spit-in-the-fire Aunt Maria's dinky little
icepond. Daddy took me in the roadster over to the
next town to order the stuff for the canoe. What
do you think would be a good name for her after we
finish it? We've put up part of the skeleton
already. Sometimes on a straight road Jo lets me
run the roadster--it's a Mercer. Do you like
Mercers? I like them the best and so does Jo. I
can't change gear very good yet and I am too young
to get a license but I am strong enough to crank
it. I've got right much muscle. Did you like to
fight when you were a boy? I love my black eyes on
other people. Jo says it is tough to fight, so he
boxes with me. He can box fine, too. He can beat
me swimming and diving all to pieces, too. I've
got to stop now because Pete is whistling for me
to come catch with him.

"Rept. HAL ALLEN."