I remember that when my second quarter's pay was due my remittance from home did not come as expected, and one day the professor came in and said, courteously:-- "'Well, Strother my boy, how are we off for money ?' "'Why, Professor,' I answered, 'I am sorry to say I have been disappointed; but I expect a remittance next week.' "'Next week!' he repeated sadly.

'I shall be dead by that time.' "'Dead, Sir ?' "'Yes, dead by starvation.' "I was distressed and astonished.

I said hurriedly:-- "'Would ten dollars be of any service ?' "'Ten dollars would save my life; that is all it would do.' "I paid the money, all that I had, and we dined together.

It was a modest meal but good, and, after he had finished, he said:-- "'This is my first meal for twenty-four hours.

Strother, don't be an artist.