I had succeeded, I thought, in inculcating in him all those
worthy principles for which our Puritan fathers fought
and--aye--died. I do not believe that there existed in our
neighborhood a more virtuous, more righteous boy.
From his earliest childhood until now Mrs. Pringle and I have
kept him carefully free from any suggestion of evil. We have put
in his hands only the best and purest of books; we have not
allowed him to attend any motion picture performances other than
the yearly visit of the Burton Holmes travelogues, and, last
year, a film called Snow White and Rose Red; we have forbidden
him to enter a theater. Roland (for that is his name) has never
in his life exhibited any interest in what is known as sex.
Sir, you may imagine my chagrin when my Roland--my boy who, for
fourteen years, I have carefully shielded from sin--rushed in
last night to where Mrs. Pringle and I were enjoying our evening
game of Bezique, bearing in his hand a copy of your magazine
which, I presume, he had picked up at some so-called friend's
house. "Papa, look," said my boy to me, pointing to the cover of
the magazine. "What are these?"
Sir, I looked. Mrs. Pringle gave a shriek, and well may she have.
My boy was pointing to a cover on which was what is called--in
barroom parlance--a "nude." And not ONE nude but TWELVE!
Sir, you have destroyed the parental labors of fourteen years. I
trust you are satisfied.
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