But one thing my acquaintanceship with Trevelyan did bring me. He was a dabbler in light verse, and had been elected to the college funny paper. He also contributed to the undergraduate literary magazine at times--though he was a bit ashamed of being taken seriously. At any rate, he encouraged me to go into these two activities. Whether or not it was due entirely to his influence, or whether these two college publications were broader and less exacting as to the ancestry of contributors, my work for them was welcomed. Before the year was over I had been elected an associate editor of the funny paper, and had four articles accepted by the literary magazine--enough to put me among the list of "probables" for election, next winter. At the same time I went through a successful trial for membership in the college dramatic association. I was not given a part in the annual play, however. I made up my mind to consider this a just decision, and that I had no right to impute it to anything other than my lack of talent. The president of the association, however, met me at lunch hour one day and made some rather lame remarks about the embarrassment to which the "dramatics" would be put if I were in the cast. "Yer see," he said, "we go on an annual tour. And we get entertained a lot, yer see. And it's big social stunts in every city. And it's the cream of society wherever we go--so, it'd be funny if--well don'tcher see?" "Yes," I admitted, "I do see. I see further than you do." I was beginning to wonder if that fight that Trevelyan planned wouldn't be worth while, after all. XI A MAN'S WORK I talked to Trevelyan, too, of my interest in the work of Lawrence Richards. Trevelyan had heard of him and of his settlement, and was rather at sea to give an opinion about it. He was only mildly enthusiastic. "What's the use of bothering with things so far away from your college life?" he protested lazily. "Of course, the idea of being useful to people in need is splendid and all that. But somehow, it doesn't fit in with college life." "Why not? Why shouldn't it?" I argued. He waved his hand as if to begin some generalization, but made no real reply. "Wait until you're through with college before you settle down to manhood," he said a little later. "College is just the sport of kids, after all." It came to me--though I did not tell him so--of how, in the beginning, I had thought of college as a place of full manhood--and of the misgivings I had had, that perhaps, after all, college would be only another stepping stone to that manhood. And so it was: just a stepping stone, through brambles of prickly prejudice and childish pranks. When would it come, that manhood? "You know, Trev," I said to him hesitatingly, "I sometimes feel I am much older than most fellows. Almost old enough to do a man's work." He looked at me and laughed, refusing to take me too soberly. "You are older," he admitted. "Only what do you call a man's work?"