The Freshman
I WAS sitting in the office at the close of a tiresome registration week when he came in shyly and apologetically. He was a freshman, two thousand miles from home, he said, and he was sick—too sick to study, too sick to eat.
I inquired as to his symptoms, but they were indefinite, elusive. He was suffering, but his pain was not "localized" as the physicians say. As I suggested remedies, other troubles presented themselves, until finally he broached the subject of going home, and I knew he was homesick. I fixed him up—no matter how. The main point of the story is that he stuck; he fought it out as every manly boy does. He is an instructor now teaching other freshmen, and very likely has forgotten the whole circumstance.
