Mauney excused such criticisms of the university on the basis of a personal warp in Max’s character, forgave him for what seemed a vandal attitude, and went on believing more firmly than ever in the light that spread from the lamp of learning. By its flame, comforted and inspired, he forgot the passage of time. He failed to notice the blush of late autumn that swept like a passion over the trees of the city, scarcely saw their bare arms raised in supplication to the greying skies, nor heaven’s response of swift winds carrying fleecy burdens. Not until the firm banks of snow began to settle down, smaller and smaller, under the warming suns of a windy March, and energetic streams of murky water rushed along the street gutters, did he wake from his steadfast dream to realize that his term was nearly over. Then came a sharp bout with the examinations and at the end of May he stood looking curiously down at the withered old tutor who was smiling less stiffly, less professionally, than usual.
“I am pleased to tell you,” he said, “that you have gained your university entrance standing. Your work with me in the preliminary subjects has been, to say the least, good, and it will afford me pleasure to produce documentary evidence of your success.” He paused to reach a small certificate from a drawer. “This,” he continued, handing it to Mauney, “should be carefully preserved and forwarded to the university in making your application for admission thereto, sometime before September.”
“Thanks.”
“And before you go,” said the tutor, rising stiffly from his chair, “let me express the pleasure I have had in overseeing your early academic career. Moreover, I would be interested to learn what particular course you contemplate taking at the university.”
This was a new idea to Mauney. He looked at the instructor for a moment, with a perplexed expression.
“I’m much interested in people,” he said, “and I think if I could get a course in history it would suit me.”
“Remember,” cautioned the old man, lifting his finger as if admonishing a wayward son, “history is a culture course which, from the financial standpoint, leads you nowhere. It would fit you only for teaching, a profession which, as I have learned from acrid experience, is not perfectly appreciated by the public. You have other courses to choose from, the more practical ones, as they might be called, such as engineering, law, medicine.”
“Well, I’ll have to consider the question,” Mauney replied.
“Just so. In the meantime, I would be glad to advise you on any points and to see you, from time to time, in order to learn of your academic progress.”
There was a light almost of kindness in the wrinkled, yellow face as he bade him good-bye. Mauney did not know how seldom that light had been there under similar circumstances, nor did he know that the affection of the old tutor was the same kind of affection that he unconsciously inspired in most of his associates. Burning with gleeful happiness over his success, he hurried home to tell Max.