“I wonder, Mr. Hardwick, if you will sing that song you wrote, please?” The poet said that he would be pleased to sing it as a trio, and asked me, when he had found the place, if I could join in with the bass. I thought I could. So the three of us, I between the two musicians, sat on the edge of the bed and sang the lilting reiterations of the hymn, “There’s a welcome home, There’s a welcome home, There’s a welcome home, For you and me.” We were interrupted by the ringing of a bell, on the University tower, which, I learned, was the call to the Sunday afternoon preaching service. As my roommate was trying to urge me to attend, and while I was protesting that my clothes were not good enough, the head waiter came into the room and said, “Priddy, I’m going to give you a try as a waiter at supper. Don’t go to the preaching service. I will try to rig you up with an apron and jacket.” Oh, what inspiration those words had in them! It meant that the University was already willing to give me a chance to show what I could do. I should not have to get work in the glass factory. I should not have to wait before I could enroll myself in the University. My chance had come. I cried for joy; tears of which I was not ashamed, even though Brock, the head waiter, saw them. “I’m only poor, and a big blunderer, without any manners,” I protested, “but if you give me a chance, I’ll do my utmost.” At five o’clock Brock came into the room carrying on his arm a well-starched waiter’s jacket and a patched white apron. “I had these on the side,” he announced. “They are worth forty cents. You may pay for them when you are able. Don’t be worrying about the matter. Be over at the dining-room at quarter past five.” After that I moved as if in the midst of a grand dream. Was I actually in a dormitory, at a college? Was it true that in a quarter of an hour I should be trying to wait on a group of real students? The dining-hall was a squat wooden bungalow with a great many windows in it. The front hall floor bent under my weight as I crossed it. I unlatched one of the double doors and viewed the roomful of tables with the dull reflector lamps hanging above them. White jacketed students were busy with plates and plated silver cutlery. Brock, himself in glorious white, came down the room with a word of greeting. I was introduced to the student-waiters, was told that I was on trial only, and that I should be carefully watched, as there were many trained waiters among the students who coveted the position. Brock indicated two tables near the door, the farthest away from the kitchen of all the tables.