Later on he came over to my room and asked to speak to me. I heard him through; listened to his smooth explanation about the committee of arrangements demanding that he put something into his speech about the Jews--and he was sorry he had broken his word to me--only, of course, I was to consider myself an exception to all this sort of thing. Everybody knew I was a good fellow and was doing bully work for the name of the college--and what right had I to class myself with these insignificant little Jews in the Freshman class? and he didn't want it to break up our friendship, because he thought the world of me. And so I showed him the door. The next day I began to pay for that stroke of arrogance. The classmates who belonged to that man's fraternity snubbed me on the street. It didn't matter much, I thought--but in reality, it did. Because these men, as it happened, had been my closest friends. I was beginning to worry myself into a maudlin state, and no doubt did attribute hostility to altogether too many of the undergraduates. But it is hard to choose and distinguish surely in a land that is generally hostile and strange. I began to stay more and more within the shelter of my room, working at my studies and at those activities which had already given me recognition. I wanted to be plucky about it. I wanted to keep on smiling--but there were times, I must confess, when I wished that I were through with college and all its rough-and-tumble boyishness. I did not care so much myself. There were all these freshmen who were probably ten times lonelier than I was, ten times more bewildered and disheartened by the welcome they had had. I tried to visit as many of them as lived in dormitories. I wanted to talk things over with them, to help them in some possible way. But it wasn't much of a success--I could make no progress out of condonement and asking them to wait patiently until the foolish campaign had dwindled away. Then, one day, as I crossed the campus to a first recitation, I saw that the brick walls of the oldest of the dormitories had been adorned with huge painted letters: "OUT WITH THE JEWS." I went into a telephone booth and called up the house of one of the professors with whom I had become friendly. He was a kindly, well-meaning man, and an alumnus of the college. His telephone line was busy when I called it. I heard him talking with some one. I was about to ring off when suddenly I heard my own name mentioned. The professor was an alumnus member of one of the college fraternities. And this other man--evidently an undergraduate, though I never tried to identify him--was asking the professor what he thought of offering me an election to this fraternity. And I heard the professor sigh in his patient way. "I like him--I like him very much, mind you," I heard him say, "but--er, er--I do think it would be disastrous--nothing short of disastrous to elect a Jew to any of our fraternities in the present situation."