He was overflowing the chair recently graced by Professor Burgess and clutching his derby as if it might escape and leave him bareheaded forever. His face had a dogged expression and his glance was stern. Yet his direct words and the deep richness of his voice put him outside of the class of commonplace beginners. “Are you fond of killing things?” the Dean asked. The ruddy color deepened in Vic Burleigh's brown cheek, but the steadfast gaze of his eyes and the firm lines of his mouth told the head of Sunrise something of what he would find in the sturdy young Jayhawker. “Sometimes,” came the blunt answer. “I've always lived on a Kansas claim. Unless you know what that means you might not understand--how hard a life”--Vic stopped abruptly and squeezed the rim of his derby. “Never mind. We take only face value here. Fine view from that window,” and Lloyd Fenneben's genial smile began to win the heart of the country boy as most young hearts were won to him. Burleigh leaned toward the window, forgetful of the chair arms he had striven to subdue, the late afternoon sunlight falling on his brown face and glinting in his auburn hair. “It's as pretty as paradise,” he said, simply. “There's nothing like our Kansas prairies.” “You come from the plains out west, I hear. How long do you plan to stay here, Burleigh?” Dr. Fenneben asked. “Four years if I can make it go. I've got a little schooling and I know how to herd cattle. I need more than this, if I am only a country boy.” “Who pays for your schooling, yourself, or your father?” Fenneben queried. “I have no father nor mother now.” “You are willing to work four years to get a diploma from Sunrise? It is hard work; all the harder if you have not had much schooling before it.” “I'm willing to work, and I'd like to have the diploma for it,” Vic answered. “Burleigh, did you notice the letter S carved in the stone above the door?” “Yes, sir; I suppose it stands for Sunrise?” “It does. But with the years it will take on new meanings for you. When you have learned all these meanings you will be ready for your diploma--and more. You will be far on your way to the winning of a Master's Degree.” Vic's eyes widened with a sort of child-like simplicity. He forgot his hat and the chair arms, and Dr. Fenneben noted for the first time that his golden-brown eyes matching his auburn hair were shaded by long black lashes, the kind artists rave about, and arched over with black brows. “His eyes and voice are all right,” was the Dean's mental comment. “There's good blood in his veins, I'll wager.” But before he could speak further the shrill scream of a frightened child came from the campus below the ridge. At the cry Vic Burleigh sprang to his feet, upsetting his chair, and without stopping to pick it up, he rushed from the building.