yles of Pleasantville
appear beside the resplendent garments of my new friend. I was sure
that he must notice it. If he did, he gave no sign.

"I'm Boller of '89," he said, grasping my hand cordially. "What's your
name?"

"Malcolm, sir--David Malcolm," I answered.

Boller clapped an arm across my shoulders in friendly fashion. "You're
three days late, Malcolm, but better late than never. I suppose you
were hesitating between McGraw and Harvard."

"Oh, no!" I faltered, not fathoming his pleasantry. "I had to wait
until the tailor finished my new suit. It should have been done last
Monday, but----"

Something in Boller's eyes checked me. He was regarding me from head
to foot so gravely that I divined that I might have joined the crew of
the Ark in my new clothes, judged by their cut.

"You have come here to study agriculture, I presume," he remarked most
pleasantly.

So subtle a reference to my bucolic appearance was lost on my innocent
mind. He seemed quite serious and as he was mistaken I wanted to set
him right. I was proud of my laudable ambition. Proclaiming it had
brought me only commendation, and I proclaimed it now.

"I'm going to be a minister," I said, drawing myself up a little.

"Indeed--a minister--how interesting!" returned Boller, raising his
eyebrows.

Now had he laughed at me, had he called his fellows from the step to
mob me, in the glory of my martyrdom I should have held fast to my
purpose; or had he flattered me like Miss Spinner or Mr. Smiley, my
vanity would have carried me on my chosen path. His middle course was
disconcerting. He treated my ambition as though it were quite a
natural one and just about as interesting as to follow dentistry or
plumbing.

"I'm going to be a missionary," I said in a louder tone, hoping to
arouse in him either antagonism or adulation.

"Curious," he returned. "Very curious. Why I am thinking of taking up
the same line myself. It makes a man so interesting to the girls.
I've a cousin who is a minister, and last year he received seventeen
pairs of knit slippers from the young ladies of his congregation.
That's going some--eh, Malcolm?"

What a different picture from my cherished one of cork hats and express
rifles! The suggestion was horribly insidious. To be interesting to
women _en masse_ was to my manly view exceedingly unmanly; to labor for
reward in knit slippers the depth of degradation. I was about to
declare to Boller that I w