“It’s not a bad idea, that,” said Mr. Pedagog. “A parent sending his boy to college under such conditions would have a fairly good idea of what the lad was doing. As matters are now, it’s a question whether the undergraduate acquires as much of Euripides as he does of Travis, and as far as I can find out there are more Yale men around who know all about Bob Cook and Hinkey than there are who are versed in Chaucer, Milton, and Shakespeare.”
“But what have these things to do with the arts?” asked Mr. Whitechoker. “A man may know all about golf, base and foot ball and rowing, and yet be far removed from the true ideals of culture. You couldn’t give a man a B. A. degree because he was a perfect quarter rush, or whatever else it is they call him.”
“That’s a good criticism,” observed the Idiot, “and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that the various faculties of our various colleges will meet it by the establishment of a new degree which shall cover the case.”
“Again I would suggest that it is up to you to cover that point,” said Mr. Brief. “You have outlined a pretty specific scheme. The notion that you haven’t brains enough to invent a particular degree is to my mind preposterous.”
“Right,” said the Idiot. “And I think I have it. When I was in college they used to confer a degree upon chaps who didn’t quite succeed in passing their finals which was known as A. B. Sp. Gr.—they were mostly fellows who had played more football than Herodotus who got them. The Sp. Gr. meant ‘by special favor of the Faculty.’ I think I should advocate that, only changing its meaning to ‘Great Sport.’”
Mr. Pedagog laughed heartily. “You are a great Idiot,” he said. “I wonder they don’t call you to a full professorship of idiocy somewhere.”
“I guess it’s because they know I wouldn’t go,” said the Idiot.
“Did you say you were in college ever?” sneered the Bibliomaniac, rising from the table.
“Yes,” said the Idiot. “I went to Columbia for two weeks in the early nineties. I got a special A. B. at the beginning of the third week for my proficiency in sciolism and horseplay. I used a pony in an examination and stuck too closely to the text.”
“You talk like it,” snapped the Bibliomaniac.