l known. It is
the home of the State University.

In the year '90-something-or-other, there was enrolled in the junior
class of the university, one Walter R. Chester, but it is doubtful
whether five other students in the same classic seat of learning could
have told you his given name. Away back in his freshman year he had
been dubbed "Lord" Chester. And as "Lord" Chester alone is his name
still preserved, and revered in university annals.

The reasons lying back of this exaltation to the peerage were not very
complex, but quite as adequate as those usually inspiring college
nicknames. He was known to be country-bred, and the average freshwater
school defines the "country" as a region of dense mental darkness,
commencing where the campus ends and extending thence in every
direction, throughout the unchartered realms of space.

Each Friday afternoon, "Lord" Chester would carefully lock his room
and disappear upon a bicycle; this much was plainly visible to
everybody. On Monday he would reappear. The hiatus afforded a peg from
which much unprofitable speculation was suspended. The argument most
plausible was that he went home, while one romantic youth suggested a
girl. The accusation was never repeated. What? The "Lord" a ladies'
man? Tut! One would as soon expect a statue to drill a minstrel show.

Thus Chester's personal affairs remained a mystery. He never talked
reflexively--rare attribute in a college man--and, moreover, curiosity
never throve well in his presence. It utterly failed to bear fruit.

Another peculiarity distinguished him from all the rest of the
student body: he roomed by himself. Although invariably courteous and
polite to visitors, he was never known to extend an invitation for a
second visit. He quite obviously wanted to be left alone, and the
"fellows" met him more than half-way.

But what, more than anything else, probably helped to designate him
"Lord," was the scrupulous way in which he dressed. There was no hint
of the pastoral in his sartorial accomplishments, and it was his one
extravagance. Though from the country and therefore presumably poor,
no swell son of the Western _haute monde_ made an equally smart
appearance.

We have been viewing the youth from the standpoint of his fellow-students.
As a matter of fact, they never saw the real man, the man behind the
closed door, at all. He was a terrific worker. When he decided to do a
thing, he did it. Night was as day at such times, and