“Now don’t misunderstand my position. I am no champion of effeminacy. I do not ask that you be shielded and coddled—in your own words ‘wrapped in lamb’s wool and shut up in a bureau drawer.’ I want you able to take your share in the rough things of life. There are hard knocks to be endured in almost all athletic exercises; in many, such as riding, sailing, swimming, there is actual risk. But the risk in these sports is slight and occasional—not much greater than that incurred in the ordinary course of life. In football the danger seems to be serious and constant. It is by no means necessary that you should play on the Seaton eleven; there are other sports in which you can develop strength and skill; there are other boys ready to take your place on the team. Desirous though I am to gratify your wishes in every reasonable way, it seems to me that I have no right to allow you to risk life or limb in a dangerous pastime.
“It may be that, as you say, many other competent—I might perhaps add more competent—observers do not hold my views. I am inclined to think, however, that the older men, who are unaffected by the glamour of the arena or who have opportunities to trace the results of these ‘slight injuries,’ will be found on my side. At the same time I do not wish to seem arbitrary or tyrannical. If you can find among the best half-dozen surgeons in the city—men like Hinds or Rawson or Seaver or Brayton—a single man who can assure me that you are risking nothing or little by playing the game, I will waive my objection. I want to be reasonable and sympathetic. I would not hold you, in the present-day conditions, to all the limitations of school and college life which I look back upon as proper and beneficial in my own boyhood; but I would not have you pay the price of a single broken bone or twisted sinew for all the football trophies of the season.
“Kindly thank your friends for the interesting and clever letters they have written me, and express to them my appreciation of their loyal friendship to you. I trust they will forgive me for not yielding to their arguments, and that you may not find the sacrifice I am requiring of you as hard as you fear.
“That settles it,” said Ware, heaving a sigh as Wolcott ceased reading. “When your father makes up his mind that his facts are the only ones, you may as well knuckle under.”
