d failed Mr. Pound had so many
at his fingers' ends as to be absolutely overwhelming. So before I had
seen McGraw I was a McGraw man to the core, and my mentor, with a
subtlety astonishing for him, missed no opportunity to increase my
devotion. He even taught me the college yell in one of his lighter
moments, and I, in turn, taught it to James that it might ring out with
more volume from the barn-bridge of an evening.

You may think that I was to be disillusioned. That could not be. When
first I saw McGraw she was a giantess to my eyes. The time was to come
when I was to see her in a new light, to judge her from a new
perspective, to realize the incongruity between her aspiration and
accomplishment, to smile at her solemn adherence to academic ritual;
and yet to realize that in her littleness and poverty she gave me what
was good and all that was in her power. I may regret that I did not
delve deeper into the mysteries of those foot-ball scores and discover,
through them, the greater seats of learning. Perhaps I might have
known then that not all their sons became coal-merchants and drank, and
I might have gone much farther on that September day when first I set
out into the world beyond the mountains. But for all that I cannot
imagine the four years which I spent at that tiny college taken from my
life. For all the four years that might have been I would not exchange
them.

That September day? It is a tall white mile-stone on my way. I can
look back and see its every detail. On its eve James and I sat for the
last time on the barn-bridge and he sang of Annie Laurie and Nellie
Gray. And when we heard my mother calling me, we stood together and
gave the college yell.

"I s'pose, Davy," he said, as we were moving toward the house, "folks
will think I'm a little peculiar, but I'm going to give that cheer
every night, just for old times' sake--for your sake, Davy."

Our elders have a fashion of making like inopportune remarks when we
are struggling to keep our hearts high. It seemed as though they were
trying to break my spirit. My mother's white silence, my father's long
prayer, James feverishly coming and going on that last morning--little
things like these almost made me abandon my great plans. But pride
sustained me--that same pride which sends men into battle for foolish
causes. I wanted to hurry the fall of the blow. I even protested
against my parents and Mr. Pound driving with me to the railroa