He impressed on me the fact, that, now I was a senior, more would be expected of me ... that the younger boys would look up to me, as they did to all seniors, and I must be more careful of my deportment before them ... my general conduct....

He asked me what I intended making of myself.

“A poet!” I exclaimed.

He spread his hands outward with a gesture of despair.

“Of course, one can write poetry if necessary ... but what career are you choosing?”

“The writing of poetry.”

“But, my dear Gregory, one can’t make a living by that ... and one must live.”

“Why must one live?” I replied fervently, “did Christ ever say ’One must live’?”

“Gregory, you are impossible,” laughed Stanton heartily, “but we’re all rather fond of you ... and we want you to behave, and try to graduate.  Though we can’t tell just what you might do in after-life ... whether you’ll turn out a credit to the School or not.”

“Professor Stanton, I have a favour to ask of you before I go,” I asked, standing.

“Yes?” and he raised his eyebrows.

“I want to know if I can have that room alone, over the platform, in Recitation Hall.”

“You’ll have to ask Professor Dunn about that ... he has charge of room-transfers ... but why can’t you room as the other students do?...  I don’t know whether it is good for you, to let you live by yourself ... you’re already different enough from the other boys ... what you need is more human companionship, Gregory, not less.”

“I want to do a lot of writing.  I want to be alone to think.  I plan to read Westcott and Hort’s Greek New Testament all through, again, this winter.” ...  This was a sop to his religious sentiment.  I related how I had first read the New Testament in the Greek, while on a cattle-boat, in the China Seas....

“Gregory, you’re quite mad ... but you’re a smooth one, too!” his eyes gleamed, amused, behind his glasses....

“And I want to write a lot of poems drawn from the parables of the New Testament”—­though, not till that minute had such an idea entered my head....

When I was admitted to the study of Professor Dunn and sat down waiting for him among his antique busts and rows of Latin books, I had formulated further plans to procure what I desired....

He came in, heavily dignified, like a dark, stocky Roman, grotesque in modern dress, lacking the toga.

I told him of my New Testament idea ... and added to it, as an afterthought, that I also wanted to prosecute a special study of the lyrics of Horace.  Though he explained to me that Horace belonged to the college curriculum, his heart expanded.  Horace was his favourite poet—­which, of course, I knew....

I got my room.

I borrowed a wheelbarrow from the barn, and wheeled my trunk down to
Recitation Hall, singing.

* * * * *