crawls into an oven, is it a biscuit?"

There was an earnestness that robbed the question of any flippancy.

Houghton laughed. "No!"

"If a dub goes into college and gets flunked out in a month, is he a
college man?"

"Hardly."

"Oh, but he calls himself one. He goes to Podunk all decorated up in
geraniums and the rest of his life is a 'college man.' I'm not talking
about him or the man who comes to college to learn to mix
cocktails--inside. He may last to the junior year. I'm talking about the
graduate--they're only about a tenth of the college. But they're the
finished product. Mr. Kaufmann, you wouldn't try to sell gum that had
only gone as far as the rolling-room, would you?"

"W'at--me?"

"Would you?"

"No." The junior partner was puzzled.

"That's because you want it to go through all the processes. Well, let's
talk only about the boy who has gone all the way through the man
factory."

Houghton nodded. "That's fair."

"The trouble is, people don't do that. They persist in butting into the
college world, jerking out some sophomore celebration, and saying, 'What
use is this silly thing in the real world?'"

"Well, aren't they right?"

"No. That's just the point. The college world is a mimic world--and your
lifetime is just four years. The sophomore celebration is a practical
thing there; perhaps it's teaching loyalty--that generally comes first.
That's your college rolling-room. But the graduate--he's learned to do
_something_ well. I never knew a college man who wasn't at least
responsible."

"But----"

"But here's the trouble: after selecting say two hundred fellows out of
an entering bunch of six hundred, and developing the thing each is best
fitted for, _father_ steps in and the boy who would have made a
first-class professor is put into business and blamed for being
impractical. The fellow who has been handling thousands of dollars in
college management and running twenty assistants--the man who could have
taken the place--has no father to give him the boost necessary, and the
other man's failure has queered his chances. He has to go to work as a
mere clerk under a man--excuse me, I don't want to do any knocking."

"You think the whole trouble is caused by misdirected nepotism."

"Yes."

"Ah----" It was young Kaufmann again. "But you said that you were
trained in advertising on your college paper."

"Yes--and I was going to tell you today, if Mr. Pepper hadn't, that the
money you're p