"But they--how very American!"
'Very American' they both were. Mr. Patterson was a slim, alert business
man, with a firm chin cleft in the middle, mouth hidden by a tawny,
drooping mustache, deep-set gray eyes under a broad brow from which the
brown hair was rapidly receding at the temples. Pat had his father's
cleft chin, straight nose, and square forehead; but his mouth curved
like his mother's and like hers were the hazel eyes and curly dark hair.
He was a sturdy, well-set-up young American, who played good football
and excellent baseball and studied fairly well--not that he had any deep
interest in books, for he meant to be a business man like his father,
but his mother wished him to get good reports and a certain
class-standing was necessary to keep from being debarred sports.
Mr. Patterson was glad that Pat liked his school, glad that he did not
like it so well as to regret going home. "After all, there is nothing
like an American school for an American boy," he said.
"And baseball the way we play it at home is the thing," declared Pat.
They made plans for their voyage the next week, and then Mr. Patterson
rose to go, saying he'd be in again, but couldn't tell just when, as
he'd be pretty busy, examining some new motor machinery.
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