George thought rapidly. He could see through Rogers now. The boy wanted, even as he did, to run with the best, but for a vastly different cause. That was why his manner had altered that first morning when he had sized George up as the unfinished product of a public school, why it had altered again when he had sensed in him a football star. George's heart warmed, but not to Rogers. Because he rioted around for a period each afternoon in an odorous football suit he was already, in the careful Rogers' eyes, one of the most prominent of the students in town. For the same reason he was in a position to wait and make sure that Rogers himself was the useful sort. George possessed no standard by which to judge, and it would be a mistake to knot ropes that he might want to break later; nor did he care for that sort of charity, no matter how well disguised, so he shook his head. "Green and Squibs wouldn't put up with it." He wheedled his landlady, instead, into a better humour, paying her reluctantly a little more. The problem of expenses was still troublesome, but it became evident that there, too, Bailly would be a useful guide. "I have actually bearded the dean about you," he said one evening. "There are a few scholarships not yet disposed of. If I can prove to him that you live by syntax alone you may get one. As for the rest, there's the commons. Impecunious students profitably wait on table there." George's flush was not pretty. "I'll not be a servant," he snapped. "It's no disgrace," Bailly said, mildly. "It is--for me." He didn't like Bailly's long, slightly pained scrutiny. There was no use keeping things from him anyway. "I can trust you, Mr. Bailly," he said, quickly, and in a very low voice, as if the walls might hear: "I know you won't give me away. I--I was too much like a servant until the day I came to Princeton. I've sworn I'd never be again. I can't touch that job. I tell you I'd rather starve." "To do so," Bailly remarked, drily, "would be a senseless suicide. You'll appreciate some day, young man, that the world lives by service." George wondered why he glanced at the untidy table with a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I'm also sorry to learn your ambition is not altogether unselfish, or altogether worthy." George longed to make Bailly understand. "It was forced on me," he said. "I worked in my father's livery business until he failed. Then I had to go to a rich man's stable. I was treated like dirt. Nobody would have anything to do with me. They won't here, probably, if they find out." "Never mind," Bailly sighed. "We will seek other means. Let us get on with our primers." Once or twice, when some knotty problem took George to the house during the early morning, he found the spic-and-span neatness he had observed at his first visit. In Bailly's service clearly someone laboured with a love of labour, without shame or discouragement.