But everything has its end, even as my homesickness and discouragement had their ending when the students came back once more, bringing others with them. They came back flushed with eagerness for another year’s work; eager once more to invest themselves in sacred ties of friendship. Thropper came back with a hundred dollars: his summer’s earnings. I reported that I had just managed to pay my last year’s tuition and my summer’s board: I could enter upon my second year of education with a clean slate. Once more the round of studies, prayer-meetings, and chores commenced: this time with less of novelty. The approach to winter brought with it the same questions of how to earn cash. To this end I went into the woods for a day and tried to chop down trees, but my arms were not attuned to axe swinging; after my first cord had been cut I had to abandon the quest for dollars in that healthful but too vigorous work. I returned to the University and assisted the baker with bread and pies and the janitor with the university floors; the money to be credited against my account on the books. But I realized at last that I was in the midst of inestimable privileges. The studies awakened me to the possibilities of culture and mental fitness. Some of my last year’s friends had entered upon the pleasant vocations of teaching and business for which they received a moderate, but, as it appeared to me, a flattering compensation. Thropper--ever on the alert with inspiration--comforted me one night when my empty pockets had induced a pessimistic frame of mind, by saying: “Now look here, Priddy. Suppose you don’t have any money and have to scrimp on things. Here you are privileged to take extra studies every day; a millionaire’s son couldn’t do more. You don’t have to lose a term of study, either. You are going along through the schedule about as comfortably as any one. That’s worth a good deal. There’s Harry Lane--got plenty of money, but you know he was compelled to drop out for a term on account of bad eyes. You’re lucky, old fellow!” and the good-natured fellow gave me a staggering, but well-meant, clap on the shoulder that knocked every ounce of pessimism out of my system. “I am in luck, Thropper. I know it!” I declared, and then went to my study with new courage. “The only trouble about the whole matter, Thropper,” I declared, after some moments of quietness, “is that I am making the fight alone--no one to rely on if I get stuck, you know. The other fellows can depend upon more or less from friends--I can’t; all those bridges are cut behind me!” Thropper closed his book with an energetic snap. “You Chump!” he exclaimed, with a melting light in his clear eyes, “what do you think? That you haven’t won any friends since coming to the University? That’s where you’re wrong: sadly out of tune! All you have to do, any day, is to say the word and you can get any amount I have on hand!” I jumped to my feet and said, very gently, “Thropper, you’re all right!”