During a lull in the work, one of the married students, who had been given his Ph.B. at commencement asked me to go with him to the outskirts of the village where some eight-inch gas pipes were to be laid. He wanted me to join him at the shovel! At the time I weighed but one hundred and twenty pounds. The foreman put us in a clay ditch under a scalding July sun with a gang of knotted-muscled, tanned Irishmen to whom the picking of dried lumps of clay and the shovelling of heaps of it were mere items of a day’s work to be done mechanically, but for my friend and myself tasks for Titans. The Irishmen at my heels kept passing me, doubling on me, until, after a two days’ attempt, with the lure of twenty-five cents an hour for the prize, my friend with his Ph.B. and I with my ambitions fell out of the race and rode wearily back to the village and to the University, where for days neither of us was fit for even so simple a task as lifting a pound weight; the excessive strain had undermined our strength.
While recuperating, I was given food by the superintendent and spent most of my time wandering into the woods or through the sheep pastures where my uppermost thought was: “What is the use of all this? It is weariness and a vanity of the flesh. Give up your education! You must have money and strength, money and strength, money and strength!” And then the thought of my classmates would obtrude itself and I saw them in visions at their tasks, at their homes, in the full enjoyment of work, companionship, and wages. I seemed to hear, borne on the summer wind, above the bleating of the sheep, the exhortations of the evangelists in their tents which were crowded with farmers, paying heed to the gospel, and I was envious of them. I thought of the miners deep under the earth, black with their toil but happy in earning a substantial wage; strong, oh, so strong! My fight for an education, when contrasted with their natural endowments of strength and friendships, seemed puny, futile. In such a way did the black demon Despair lay its sharp claws on my spirit and make it bleed. I would start back across the field, not heeding the innocent, questioning gaze of the sheep as they packed off and watched me go, not watching the swift circlings of the sombre vultures high above my head, but going back to my lonely room feeling that I should never have another flash of happiness flood my life again. Then I would get out the can-opener, uncover a can of beans, and warm them on the stove for supper.
But everything has its end, even as my homesickness and discouragement had their ending when the students came back once more, bringing others with them. They came back flushed with eagerness for another year’s work; eager once more to invest themselves in sacred ties of friendship. Thropper came back with a hundred dollars: his summer’s earnings. I reported that I had just managed to pay my last year’s tuition and my summer’s board: I could enter upon my second year of education with a clean slate.
Once more the round of studies, prayer-meetings, and chores commenced: this time with less of novelty. The approach to winter brought with it the same questions of how to earn cash. To this end I went into the woods for a day and tried to chop down trees, but my arms were not attuned to axe swinging; after my first cord had been cut I had to abandon the quest for dollars in that healthful but too vigorous work. I returned to the University and assisted the baker with bread and pies and the janitor with the university floors; the money to be credited against my account on the books.
But I realized at last that I was in the midst of inestimable privileges. The studies awakened me to the possibilities of culture and mental fitness. Some of my last year’s friends had entered upon the pleasant vocations of teaching and business for which they received a moderate, but, as it appeared to me, a flattering compensation. Thropper—ever on the alert with inspiration—comforted me one night when my empty pockets had induced a pessimistic frame of mind, by saying:
“Now look here, Priddy. Suppose you don’t have any money and have to scrimp on things. Here you are privileged to take extra studies every day; a millionaire’s son couldn’t do more. You don’t have to lose a term of study, either. You are going along through the schedule about as comfortably as any one. That’s worth a good deal. There’s Harry Lane—got plenty of money, but you know he was compelled to drop out for a term on account of bad eyes. You’re lucky, old fellow!” and the good-natured fellow gave me a staggering, but well-meant, clap on the shoulder that knocked every ounce of pessimism out of my system.
“I am in luck, Thropper. I know it!” I declared, and then went to my study with new courage. “The only trouble about the whole matter, Thropper,” I declared, after some moments of quietness, “is that I am making the fight alone—no one to rely on if I get stuck, you know. The other fellows can depend upon more or less from friends—I can’t; all those bridges are cut behind me!”
Thropper closed his book with an energetic snap.
“You Chump!” he exclaimed, with a melting light in his clear eyes, “what do you think? That you haven’t won any friends since coming to the University? That’s where you’re wrong: sadly out of tune! All you have to do, any day, is to say the word and you can get any amount I have on hand!”
I jumped to my feet and said, very gently, “Thropper, you’re all right!”