One Day Too Late! I suppose there is always a time when a fellow passes quite suddenly out of the cub-stage and feels himself a man--or, at least, a very great desire to be one.

Until that Fourth of July life had been to me a playground, with an interruption or two to the game.

When dad took such heroic measures to instil some sense into my head, he interrupted the game for ten days or so--and then I went back to my play, satisfied with new toys.

At least, that is the way it seemed to me.

But after that night, things were somehow different.