his pocket, laid the money on the big desk, saying:

"That's all the money I have. I've come to work my way through. Will
you help me to get a job?"

In a flash "Tommy" noted the boy's eager, imaginative brown eyes,
his wide, compact lips and strong jaw. Reaching over, he took the
two bills and pocketed them, leaving the half-dollar.

"The traditional great men," said the dean, "started their
university careers with only fifty cents. I don't want you to be
handicapped, so I'll keep this two dollars. You can get work at ----
Green Street waiting on table for your meals, and the landlady at
---- Chalmers Street wants a student to fire her furnace in exchange
for room rent."

The boy earned his way successfully for several months. Then
suddenly he was taken sick. An operation was necessary. Mr. Clark
wired for a Chicago specialist and paid all expenses out of his own
pocket. The student recovered, and two years after he was graduated
sent "Tommy" a letter enclosing a check for five hundred dollars.
"To redeem my two dollars which you have in trust," the letter said,
"and please use the money as a medical fund for sick students who
need, but cannot afford, Chicago specialists."

The dean has an abnormal memory for names and faces. Every year he
makes a "rogues' gallery"--the photographs of all incoming freshmen
are taken and filed away. And many an humble, unknown freshman has
been exalted by the "Hello, Darby," or "Good morning,
Boschenstein"--or whatever his name happened to be--with which the