“Well,” bluffed Thropper, “what’s the difference? Wherever you find money you find the love of it. They are synonymous.”
“I’m in no danger from either, about this time, Thropper. I haven’t a cent to my name, and as I search the future I don’t see a prospect of any except I give up the University.”
“That needn’t worry you, Priddy!”
I looked at my roommate in amazement. He was not smiling. In fact, he was looking very seriously at me.
“Not worry me?” I gasped. “That’s comforting, to be sure!”
“What have you got to worry about?” he asked.
“What—worry about?” I stammered, not falling in with his mood.
“Yes. Tell me!”
“In the first place,” I explained, “you know that I had but three dollars—three—t-h-r-e-e, three, d-o-l-l-a-r-s, dollars; three dollars—to begin my education with.”
“Yes.”