“That depends on what ‘later’ means,” replied Mr. Drury.  “You would not need four years to catch up, if college does for you what I think it will.  Besides, you’re intending to be a Christian citizen, I take it, and that will be even more of a job than to be a successful hardware man.  Colleges have been operating these many years, to give young people the best possible preparations for a whole life.  Remember what John Milton said:  I care not how late I come, so I come fit.’  You want to come to your work as fit as they make ’em, don’t you?”

And J.W. owned up that he did.  “I don’t mean to be a dub in business, and I’ve no right to be a dub anywhere.  Me for Cartwright, Brother Drury!”

Another day’s work in the laboratory.  Walter Drury knew how to be patient, yet every experience like this was a tonic to his soul.  And now he must be content for a time to let others carry the work through its next stages, though he would hold himself ready for any unexpected development that might arise.

So it befell that J.W. and Marty started to Cartwright, and a week later Joe Carbrook went off to the State University.

The day after they had matriculated, J.W. and Marty were putting their room to rights—­oh, yes, they thought it would be well to share the same room—­and as they puttered about they reviewed the happenings of the first day.  They had made a preliminary exploration of the grounds and buildings, revisiting the places which had become familiar during Institute week, and living over that crowded and epochal time.

Marty, scouting around for something to do, had discovered that he could get work, such as it was, for ten hours a week, anyway, and maybe more, at thirty to fifty cents an hour.  He had a little money left after paying his tuition, and the college registrar assured him that the loan from the Board of Education would be forthcoming.  Therefore the talk turned on money.

“That tuition bill sure reduced the swelling in my pocketbook, Marty,” remarked J.W., as he examined his visible resources.

“What do you think it did to mine?” Marty observed quietly.  “I’m still giddy from being relieved of so much money in one operation.  And yet I can’t see how they get along.  Look at the big faculty they have, and all these buildings to keep up and keep going.  When I think of how big a dollar seems to me, the tuition looks like the national debt of Mexico; but when I try to figure out how much it costs the college per student, I feel as though I were paying lunch-counter prices for a dining-car dinner.  How do they do it, J.W.?”

“Who told you I was to be looked on in the light of a World Almanac, my son?  I could give you the answer to that question without getting out of my chair, but for one small difficulty—­I just don’t know.  Tell you what—­it’s a good question—­let’s look in the catalogue.  I’d like to find information in that volume about something besides the four centuries of study that loom before my freshman eyes.”