“Yes, but do you know, I rather like him,” said Andy, with a quick look at his chum. “There’s one thing that a fellow gets into the habit of when he comes to Yale—or, for that matter, to any good college, I suppose.”
“What’s that?” asked Dunk, his mind quickly snapping to some of the not very good habits he had fallen into.
“It’s learning how to take the measure of a fellow,” went on Andy, “I mean his measure in the right way—not according to the standards we are used to.”
“Quite philosophical; aren’t you?” laughed Dunk, as he picked up a book, and leafed it.
“Well, that’s another habit you get into here,” said Andy, with a smile. “But you know what I mean, don’t you Dunk?”
“Well, I suppose you mean that you get tolerant of persons—fellows and so on—that you have a natural dislike for otherwise; is that it?”
“Partly. You learn to appreciate a fellow for what he is really worth—not because his dad can write a check in any number of figures, and not turn a hair. It’s worth that counts at Yale, and not cash.”
“You’re right there, Andy. I think I’ve learned that, too. Take some of the fellows here—we needn’t mention any names—their popularity, such as it is, depends on how much they can spend, or how many spreads they can give in the course of the year. And the worst of it is, that their popularity would go out like a candle in a tornado, once they lost their money.”
“Exactly,” agreed Dunk. “They get so to depending on the power of their cash they think its all that counts.”
“And another bad thing about that,” continued Andy, “is that those fellows, if they wanted to, could make a reputation on something else besides their cash. Now there’s one chap here—no names, of course—but he’s a fine musician, and he could make the glee club, and the dramatic association too, if he liked. But he’s just to confounded lazy. He’d rather draw a check, give an order for a spread, and let it go at that.