I expressed my amazement that he should be in college. “Oh,” Sanderson exclaimed, “it doesn’t seem to bother him any. I notice that he’s getting on for Phi Beta Kappa. He makes us hump!” “Then you are able to take the regular studies!” I gasped. “Yes,” said Quarles, “the regular studies!” “Of course,” I went on, “you omit mathematics, languages, and such things!” “Why should I, Priddy?” asked Quarles turning toward me his expressionless eyes. “Well, I really don’t see how you can manage--those subjects,” I explained. “He manages all right,” interrupted Sanderson, “why, Priddy, he’s taken nineties in calculus, French and German and Greek, and is right there when it comes to such graft courses, as philosophy and English! Oh, you don’t need to pity him: rather pity me, who with my eyesight, am hardly able to pull through Fine Arts One!” Quarles then explained to me how, before taking his courses, he had a student read to him the complete text which he translated into Braille with his blind-writing apparatus, on sheets of paper. He also used the same instrument, almost as quickly as we, with our sight, would use our pencils in the professor’s lectures. The leaves he had been shuffling that morning, formed a reading lesson in French. Everybody was the friend of Quarles. He would be groping his way alone over a path to a class but a brief moment, for a student, playing ball, nearby would signal to his comrade, who would hold the ball, and then, throwing down his glove would hurry over, have a cheery word of greeting, ask Quarles whither he was bound, link arms with the blind student and guide him into a path where he could find his own way without need of piloting. In this way, Quarles must have felt the arm of nearly every upper-classman, for not only were they willing to straighten out his walks for him, and read to him, but they also took him with them on excursions, which he shared with excellent comradeship and proved to be as good a mountain climber as the best. In this way, too, through walks, at meals, and in classes, I soon had the students differentiated and had a formidable list of friendships. It was my custom, throughout the fall months when the highways were hard and untouched by snow, to ride weekly to and from college on a bicycle which I had bought for that purpose. On this twenty-mile excursion, along a winding river and through quiet, little hamlets, I had certain resting-places where I could breathe and refresh myself with a sup of water. Doctor Floyd’s well, conveniently near the highway at the summit of a steep grade, had also a rustic bench near it, from which a most gratifying vista could be obtained, which included the view of a pyramidal mountain cone framed in a circular opening of twinkling poplar leaves, at whose foot a silvery dash of river curved under high, bush-lined banks, with now and then a cow or a colt completing the composition by standing in the river.