Clif laughed, but not so heartily as he might have if he had not at that period been vacillating between Yale and Brown as a scene for future scholastic and athletic triumphs! A few minutes later Mr. McKnight said, “I’d like to remind you, Bingham, that an adviser is one who supplies advice. Most fellows think his business is only to get them out of trouble. Well, I’m always glad to do all I can in that way, but you chaps ought to remember that prevention is better than cure and that if you come here for advice you’re not likely to come back later for help. Just bear that in mind, won’t you? And bear in mind that I’ve been through just what you and all the rest of you are going through――and not so long ago, either――and know pretty well what your problems and temptations are. So don’t think I’m no use to you except to advise you about your studies. Studies, school work, are a small part of your life here. The real problems and the biggest worries are likely to concern your relationship with your fellows, your attitude toward the school, your social and athletic interests. Very often the smallest problems are the hardest to solve, Bingham. Well, when you run up against something that you can’t settle to your own satisfaction come and see me and we’ll talk it over. Maybe we’ll find the answer that way, maybe we won’t; but it always helps to talk it over. Sort of blows the fog away. You’ll find me here in the evenings, generally, and always between five and six. And that reminds me: Friday evenings, after study hour, we get together here and have a sort of quiet shindig; talk a good deal, have a little music, maybe, and get acquainted. Not much in the way of excitement, you know, but usually a pleasant time is had by all. Drop in as often as you can, Bingham, and bring a friend with you.” Mr. McKnight glanced at his watch. “You’ve just time to make assembly hall before the fun starts. Good night. Drop in often, Bingham. You don’t have to wait for a Friday evening, you know.” Traversing the dimly lighted corridor of Middle Hall, past the gloomy caverns of the darkened class rooms, Clif was sensible of a new cheerfulness. The echoes aroused by the brisk tramp of his feet on the old, worn floor sounded almost friendly to him. CHAPTER IV A BOY IN A WHEEL CHAIR