had a few years of college first, so that he might see things
broadly and with a mind trained for bigness. But he had only dreamed all
this, only longed for it in secret. He would rather forego all of it
than urge his father to make the big sacrifice.

I had come to be so fond of him, it was not long before I decided upon
what seemed to be a proper solution. Without a word to Frank, I escaped
from college early one afternoon and went downtown to that East Side
street where he lived. I found his father in the cellar of the bakery
shop which he owned, his beard all whitened with flour dust, his thin,
bare arms thick with the paste of dough.

With rehearsed gesticulations I made him understand what I offered. My
own father had left me fairly well off; I wanted to lay out the money
which would be necessary to afford Frank a college education. They could
pay it back when they pleased--not for many years would I need it.

I had a distinct surprise, then. My generosity was taken somewhat aback
by the man's apparent anger. He seemed to be resenting any suggestion of
charity. I tried to assure him that this was not what I intended, but he
did not understand. At length we had to call in one of the bakery's
oven-tenders to act as interpreter. And through this third party Mr.
Cohen thanked me kindly. He appreciated all I offered, but he had long
ago made arrangements for Frank.

"And what are those arrangements?" I asked anxiously, picturing the boy
at work in this dark, mouldy cellar.

"It is a secret," said Mr. Cohen. "But it is time now for me to disclose
what his mother and I have planned for him. For ten years we have saved.
And we have saved enough to send him to college. He shall go there and
we ourselves shall send him." He drew himself up as he said it, so that
I had a glimpse of that pride which all Jewish fathers seem to take in
hardships which they undergo for their children. "It is so with the son
of the president of my synagogue," he said. "It shall be no less so with
my son, either. He shall have what his father could not have, though his
father starve and slave to give it to him!"

The dull interpreter gave me this in flat, spiritless tones; but I could
see the clenched hands and the earnest face of Mr. Cohen, and I nodded
quickly.

"I am very glad," I told him. "And I know it will mean ten times more in
happiness to you because you are giving him all this with your own
hands. Frank said to me he dared not as