A Professor in a Small College

I

DURING the last few years, the attention of readers has frequently been called to the life of the college professor, his work, his hardships, and his compensation — or rather his lack of compensation. But, seemingly, all the information which has been offered on the subject has been concerned with the professor in the larger university, and only passing attention has been given to the teacher in the small college. And yet there are in the United States about ten thousand men and women who are teaching in colleges that enroll less than five hundred students each. These men are popularly, and perhaps correctly, classed as ‘professors’ along with their brothers in the more exalted positions. There is not so much distinction here between ‘professors,’ ‘assistant professors,’and ‘instructors,’ for there is frequently only one man teaching each subject, and, in a surprisingly large number of cases, two or three subjects will be taught by the same man. To a far greater extent, than might be supposed, these men are exerting an influence in our civilization, and their own peculiar struggles and aspirations form a unique chapter in contemporary history.

Following a strong natural bent, I have joined this army of educators and I consider myself, at present, a fairly typical specimen. There are a wife and baby to share my life, and give me an added incentive to do good work. I hold a master’s degree from one of America’s leading universities and am planning to take the degree of Doctor of Philosophy as soon as possible. This is the usual state of affairs with the professor in the small college, as those who already hold doctor’s degrees are comparatively rare. I do not hesitate to say that I am successful in my teaching. My students are enthusiastic, the work they do compares very favorably with that done at much larger schools, and there are many other things which indicate that I have at least average ability and success. The great scholar under whom I took the greater part of my post-graduate work said to me, ‘ I have never known anyone who seemed to be going ahead by leaps and bounds as you are.’ Being a natural teacher, I enjoy my work as I suppose few men ever enjoy their work, and altogether my life is happier and gayer than that of most of my fellow teachers.

I am teaching in a state that borders on the Atlantic, in a fine old school that for over seventy-five years has been sending out graduates who afterwards have become senators, governors, judges, ministers, and leading men in industries and professions. This school ranks high among the educational institutions of the state and, even financially, is fairly successful as schools go. The salary which I yearly receive is twelve hundred dollars, or rather I receive eleven hundred dollars and my house is furnished free; this is a very good house and it would probably cost me much more than a hundred dollars a year if I had to pay rent. It will be readily understood that this salary is equivalent to almost twice as much at a larger institution or in a city. This is a country school, in the midst of a rich agricultural section, and we know nothing of the great expense of life in a city or the great cost of social duties which are necessarily attached to the life of a university man. While there are a few small colleges that pay better salaries than this, there are others — and many others — that pay much less.

Altogether, my lot is as good as or better than that of the average college professor, and I feel justified in saying that the lines have fallen unto me in pleasant places.

I was never a very good accountant, and it is next to impossible to make my accounts balance. Usually at the end of a month, there is a slight deficit, which may amount to as much as a dollar or two. I know that there are economic specialists who can keep accounts for years and show where every penny has gone; some of these are also very efficient in the art of living cheaply, and are inclined to censure the rest of us for not having this ability. But I have noticed that those who are so expert in this way are, as a rule, not extraordinarily good teachers. I cannot conceive how a teacher, so sufficiently wrapped up in his work as to arouse the proper amount of enthusiasm in his students, can always remember to set down the two cents which he spent for a postage stamp or the quarter which he paid for some collars when he forgot to send off his laundry — only, of course, the man of this type would not have forgotten to send off his laundry. The average college professor cannot keep accounts as accurately as this, but is sometimes absent-minded; not extremely so, but just about as much so as any other ordinary individual.

II

Without attempting to give an exact account of the way we use our income, I can give one that so nearly approximates it that it will serve our purpose very satisfactorily. Aside from my regular work, I teach in a summer school, and have found that by so doing I can make just about enough to meet the expenses of the summer. Therefore we can count out the summer months and discuss only the expenses of the school year, which is about ten months long. The following table will show the disposition which we make of the greater part of the salary: —

It will appear from the above table, that, counting the fifty dollars for life insurance, I make about two hundred and fifty dollars above expenses each year. But it will quickly be seen that there are many calls for money which are not taken into account in the table: these are the occasional expenses which fall under no special heading. I do most of my typing, but occasionally I am so rushed that I must hire somebody to do a little of it, and a few dollars leak out in this way; a new typewriter ribbon or some repairs on my machine take their mite; unless I neglect my teaching it is impossible to split all my kindling and take care of the yard, so I must occasionally hire a boy to do some of this work for me; my wife cannot always do all her work and sometimes a colored woman comes in and helps her wash or scrubs the floor for her; the baby needs a carriage or at least a new toy, and, in fact, almost every day sees a draft made on the long-suffering and rapidly diminishing two hundred dollars. When I count up, I wonder that we succeed in getting through even, which is about all we can do.

I frankly admit that I could economize on some of the above items. I could spend less for books and magazines, for example, and I know some teachers do this. This may be justifiable in some lines, but to teach the subjects which I am teaching, and teach them right, it is necessary to do a great amount of reading and keep up with the times. And laying aside the question of what he ought to do, the teacher wants to keep up so badly that he will, if necessary, go without food and clothing in order to secure these books and magazines. Sixty dollars is little enough when there is no city library accessible and there is a dearth of such material in the library of the college. The textbooks alone which I use in my classes this year cost over thirty dollars, and the texts are comparatively insignificant. I grow sick with longing when I read the advertisements of books and journals which I should have. I keep lists and catalogues of these publications and occasionally read them over, just for the torturing pleasure of thinking how delightful it would be if I could afford them.

I never take any journals that are taken by the library, I never buy any that I can borrow, and I work every scheme of which I can think to gain access to as many as possible, spending every cent that I can afford for some of the best that are most closely related to my work. But how many there are that I ought to have and cannot get! There is the Eugenic Review, published in England: if my students are to leave their Alma Mater as wellinformed, efficient, enthusiastic citizens, I ought by all means to have access to this magazine. Then there is the Harvard Theological Review ; sometimes I finger the announcements concerning this journal with much the same fondness that a small boy has when he fondles his painted bow and arrow, and longs to get out into the deep cool woods. Some of my students will be preachers and I could do much better work by them if I only had this publication; and of perhaps equal importance is the theological journal issued by the University of Chicago Press. Then there are the Psychological Bulletin, Mind, the British Journal of Psychology, the Journal of Race Development, the Journal of Animal Behavior, the — but why name them? There are at least fifteen or twenty such, costing from two to five dollars each, which I could use to great advantage, both to myself and my students; but they are hopelessly beyond my reach.

And books! Here I become sick in earnest. There’s Stefansson’s account of his life with the Eskimo, Ellen Key’s writings, some of Bergson’s works; Pfister, of Germany, has written a new book on Freudian psychology, Die psychoanalytische Methode, which, from its descriptions and commendations, must be the best thing in this line that has ever been written; there is a book, just off the press, that gives the life of G. Stanley Hall, and my relations to him have been such that I can hardly be resigned to do without this book. I should have no trouble whatever in spending an additional hundred dollars for seemingly necessary books.

A number of my students will enter universities to take up graduate work next year, and I would like to give them at least a speaking acquaintance with some of these recent books before they go. What would it not mean to them if I could give them the gist of these books while we walked round the campus or sat in an informal visit — which, after all, is by far the best kind of teaching. And besides what it would mean to my students, I need these books for my own personal good. I need them in order that I may remain fresh and keep on growing, and escape the danger of mental ossification.

It will be noticed that I make no mention of any books that are not closely connected with my work. This is not because I do not like other books, for I am passionately fond of poetry and good fiction, but I cannot afford to invest in any books for pleasure or because of the binding of the book. This year, I have been especially fortunate with my books. I made a sort of bargain by which fifty dollars of the hundred that I yearly give to church and educational matters might be given to the college library in the form of books. Of course, I secured the use of the ones that I put in the library, and that was just as good as if I had bought them for myself. That is, I secured as much objective good from them, but subjectively, I frankly admit that I get much pleasure from the act of owning a book myself that is lacking when I read one that does not belong to me. Altogether, I hardly see how I can spend less than sixty dollars yearly for books and magazines.

III

Probably there are few who will be inclined to think that two hundred dollars is an extravagant sum to spend for the clothing of three. This practically means clothing for the entire year, as we buy very little clothing out of the summer’s salary. It must be remembered, too, that I am supposed to dress like a ‘professor, ’—although the standards are very different for different places,—and my wife must be attired as a ‘professor’s wife.’ There are probably some who could dress more cheaply, but, as I said above, I specialize in teaching and not in being an economic expert.

It is really funny, sometimes, when I think of the way I manage my clothes. Only a few days ago, one of the other professors apologized to me for the appearance of the suit he was wearing (he was having troubles, too, poor man), and intimated that my clothing looked very neat and new. Well, at that particular time, I did have on the best suit I own, but I have worn it three winters, and there was a hole at the bottom of one trouser-leg, which, however, did not show very badly. My wife has darned that hole now, and let me say, just here, that she is very efficient in darning and cleaning my clothes. I wonder how many of the readers know that men’s clothing can be washed? Last winter my wife fished an old suit of mine out of the rags and decided to see what she could do with it. I had worn this suit in a chemical laboratory for a year and the acid had eaten it full of holes. I had caught the coat on a barbed-wire fence and torn it badly, and I had spilled some paint on it. She washed this suit in a tub with warm water and Ivory soap, dried it, darned the many, many holes with ravelings from the raw edges, pressed it nicely and I put it on and wore it — and everybody admired my new suit.

This was a thin summer suit she had washed, but it turned out so successfully that she tried her hand at a heavy old black suit which I had thrown away because it was so old and dirty — you know those black suits never wear out. This she washed with as much success as the other, and when she had put new lining in the sleeves it was a very respectable suit. She has washed them again this year, and they seem to look about as well as ever, and I laughingly tell her that I shall be wearing one of those coats when I receive my doctor’s degree — that far-distant mystic event toward which we both look with much the same feeling that we have when we speak of the time when ‘our ship will come in.’

There are many little tricks that a ‘professor’ employs — at least I do. I wear ’low-cuts,’ or slippers, the year round and explain that I like them better than high shoes, which is strictly true; but the real reason is that a pair of shoes will last me longer than six months, and I wear them until they are entirely worn out before buying a new pair. Therefore I am apt to be wearing half-worn slippers when the fall winds begin to blow and, instead of buying a new pair of high shoes, I buy gaiters. They cost only fifty cents a pair, and one pair will last me two years. And I never have a strictly dress shoe, but always buy shoes that will serve for school and street wear after they are too worn for ‘best’ functions.

I own no dress-suit and never wear one. As long as I am associating with ‘professors’ I am safe, for few of them own dress-suits and, even if they do, they understand. I should greatly enjoy attending functions where suits of this kind are in demand, and my natural social instincts would make me at home there, but I am one of the many efficient, well-educated, up-todate teachers who never appear at such places — and for a reason.

Even in the matter of hair-cuts and shaves, I have learned to economize, and I usually let my hair grow very long before having it cut and thus the barber’s bills are kept small. I usually remark when I get into the chair (a guilty conscience will always force one to make some explanation) that I used to play football — which I did — and that I still wear my hair long — which I do — but again there is a reason. Fortunately, I look fairly well with long hair and I have become somewhat proficient in trimming my neck and temples with the razor. I am something of an expert with a razor, and during the last three years I have been shaved by a barber only once.

I speak of this as a kind of record whenever the subject comes up, and show that I am proud of it, but still there would have been no such record if it did not cost money to be shaved by barbers. The ordinary man, who detests shaving himself as much as I do, and who also enjoys the luxury of a good shave by a barber as well as I do, will know something of what this means. I received fifty dollars more than I had expected for my last summer’s work and I celebrated by getting a shave. Do not think that I am the only man in intellectual work who goes to such an extreme. I know a man who took a doctor’s degree in philosophy last spring from one of America’s leading universities, who acknowledged in a private conversation — a very private conversation — that he had never been shaved by a barber and had never eaten a meal in a restaurant.

I do not stand alone in my wearing of fixed over and antedated clothes. My wife has worn the same hat and the same coat for four winters and yet, some way, she manages to look neat and well dressed. This year she did shrink from going to formal affairs and managed to wear a becoming little wool cap most of the time. Sometimes I imagine how splendid it would be if I could afford to get her some furs and elaborate gowns, but all such unnecessary and luxurious things as furs and Paris gowns are hopelessly tabooed. Of course she could afford some of these if she bought an inferior quality, but she rightly prefers a few simple dresses and suits of really good quality. Oh, well, sometime maybe I can afford to get her some furs and things — after I get my doctor’s degree or our ship comes in.

IV

It has already been noticed that we keep no servants, and yet it is a physical impossibility for my wife to do all her housework and take care of the baby. We have wrestled with this problem in different ways at different times during the last few years. I have had considerable training in dishwashing, sweeping, caring for the baby, and even cooking, especially when my wife was not well. Just now we are solving it in a fairly satisfactory way by taking our meals out. We board at one of the regular college boarding-houses and — how she does it I do not know — the landlady gives us very good board for two dollars and a half a week.

When she is relieved of the cooking, my wife manages to do practically all the rest of the housework, including sewing and washing. We could certainly not board at home as cheaply as this, especially when one considers the extra servant hire and the extra fuel that it would necessitate. And again, let no one think that I am alone in helping my wife with her work. I could name a rather long list of college professors of my own acquaintance who give much of their valuable time to helping with the housework.

Household expenses are deceitful, as one is always thinking that they are over for a while, and yet they are always cropping up. This year we had to buy some book-shelves and stoves and a few window-blinds and curtains. We then had a feeling of relief as if we were settled, but on stopping to think, we saw where we shall have to expend about as much for such items next year. We need a bed and furniture for a guest-room, and some new screens, and another stove to take the place of one that wore out this year, and a rug for the hall and numerous other things. And then there are always brooms and coal-buckets and shovels and all sorts of things which one never takes into consideration until one finds they are necessary. I do not see how we can do with less than seventy-five dollars a year for household expenses — at least we shall probably average that for some years to come.

My laundry bill is not large, as my wife washes all my clothes except my collars, cuffs, and stiff shirts. On the other hand, my outlay for stationery amounts to nearly twenty dollars a year. I have many very good friends, and besides I keep up a heavy correspondence with publishing houses, libraries, teachers in other schools, educational boards, and through this semibusiness correspondence I strive to keep abreast of the times in my line. With the correspondence is also counted the cost of the paper which I use in the numerous outlines and questionlists that I get out in connection with my teaching. The doctor and dentist bills are usually very light, but they demand their portion, and these four items wrest half a hundred dollars from our hands before the year has passed. And if the doctor is needed more than three or four times, there is another onslaught on that hard-pressed two hundred dollars which must serve as a reserve fund for all such emergencies.

It may seem too much to allow seventy-five dollars for recreations and kindred items, but careful consideration shows that it is certainly small enough. Christmas alone costs us over twenty-five dollars, and this is an absurdly small sum when we have so many good friends whom we so like to remember. We always combine business and pleasure in giving to each other, and give something which we must have anyway. In fact, we ‘save up’ for some time before Christmas, putting off the buying of many necessities just for the pleasure of receiving them on that day. I go out into the hills and bring in our own Christmas tree and we trim it ourselves, but even then the Christmas season costs us a little bit, aside from the small presents we give.

Because the word ‘travel’ is included in this list, it must not be inferred that we indulge in many pleasure trips. Whenever we do any shopping, we must go to the city, and that costs a dollar or two each trip; we make only two or three trips during the year, but they count up along with everything else. And then there are always institutes and teachers’ meetings and meetings of science associations, and it is necessary for me to attend some of them, though the number is very small. This seventy-five dollars must also pay for the few little dinners and luncheons which we give to students and friends, and must provide tickets to the Y.M. C.A. banquets, athletic banquets, other college and community functions, and the lyceum numbers and lectures that we attend. And the ‘professors’ are expected to buy tickets for them even if they are too busy to use them. They are also expected to pay membership dues to the athletic association and often to contribute to other organizations. About all of this seventy-five dollars that is expended for what can really be called ‘recreation’ in the strictest sense, is the small sum which I spend for tennis balls and an occasional pair of tennis shoes or some repairs on the racquet.

It may be that I have fallen from grace, and on the other hand it may be that I have grown into a broader conception of Christianity, but in either case, I do not feel the binding necessity of living by rule-of-thumb that I did when in my adolescent years. There was a time when I was very orthodox, and I considered it very essential to live by the old Puritan standards and faithfully to tithe whatever income I might receive. I no longer feel that we should be bound by the old Jewish customs, but I still hold it as true that a man should be sufficiently interested in the welfare of the world and the advancement of science and civilization to give approximately a tenth of his income for religious and educational matters. I do not say this in the spirit of preaching to any one else, but merely to explain why I give a hundred dollars to such causes each year. I sincerely believe that the average college professor gives this much, though he may not think he does. To be sure, many do not give lavishly through the churches, but they generously support athletics, Young Men’s Christian associations, educational organizations, and respond to a hundred and one other calls that arise in connection with church or school. Every college has some kind of financial campaign on all the time, regardless of how rich it may already be. This statement may be overdrawn, but the exceptions are a decided minority. And, of course, the ‘professors’ are often called upon to start some special fund with a liberal donation. These men, in so far as I have been able to observe them, whether church members or not, are a very liberal class and respond readily and generously to such calls.

Altogether, it is nearly or quite impossible for us to get through the year with very much money left to lay by — except the fifty dollars which goes for life insurance. If we save more than a hundred dollars, I consider that we do well. However, let me say again that I am not an economic specialist, nor do I want to be. I would rather be an ‘A No. 1 ’ teacher even if I do have a difficult time with my finances.

V

So far the discussion has all centred around the compensation, and it is as well that we turn our attention to another phase of the professor’s life and see what he does. Regularly, I teach twelve hours a week — just two hours a day. That is, I have four classes, each of which recites three times a week. This looks easy enough and the man who works twelve hours a day is apt to smile at the difficult toil of the teacher. In this connection, I am reminded of what I once heard a highschool teacher say. Although it is the general impression that a school-teacher works from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, he stated that he must just reverse those figures and work from four A.M. until nine P.M. and even work some on Sunday. And this is true not of him alone, but in general of all teachers, from the primary teacher to the university president.

My father was a farmer and he used to get up at three o’clock and be out in the field ploughing while the stars were yet shining. How easy would he consider my life if he were still alive and knew that I do not get up sometimes until eight o’clock! But it must also be remembered that some nights I do not go to bed until about the time that he got up. Many a night have I studied until after two o’clock and then reluctantly gone to bed, thinking how much there was to do and how little I had succeeded in doing.

In common with most teachers in the small schools, I have several subjects to teach and this makes my work much harder. My four classes are in three subjects, psychology, education and sociology; and even logic and ethics are incorporated in the year’s work in psychology. Could I teach only one of these, or even two of them, I could do the work well and still feel no special hardship, but as it is, I must be reading in three different fields all the time. There are a great many people who think that a teacher should know what is in his textbooks and teach it, and that, after having taught a year or two and learned his books well, he has nothing to do. This is, of course, a very erroneous idea, as the textbook bears about the same relation to the field which the teacher must cover as the preacher’s text does to the sermon. In fact, I have found that I can always teach a new book better and with more ease than one with which I am already over-familiar, and for that reason I change texts as often as possible. During the course of the year, I read — and I believe digest — between twenty and thirty thousand pages of material on the subjects which I teach. Most of this is from journals, and nearly all is from the most recent publications. Of course, I could neglect this reading if I wanted to, but it would be simply lying down on my job, as we say, for I must do it if I would keep up and do the best kind of teaching. If I were teaching only one or two subjects, this reading would be cut in half and I should have time for a little drama, poetry, and general literature.

Because the professor enjoys this reading, there is a general impression that it is not work; and it is difficult, anyway, for the layman to think of reading as really being work. But I doubt if the professor enjoys his reading any more than others who have found their proper sphere enjoy their particular kind of work. I used to enjoy ploughing and cutting corn and pitching wheat in much the same way that I now enjoy the feast of new scientific information which I get from some well-written clear-cut book. I was raised on a farm, and when I was a husky youngster, — only a few years ago, — I counted it a delight to get out into the wheat-field, and it was glorious to pitch the heavy bundles and feel myself completely master of the situation. Even since I have been in school work, I have spent one summer working at hard manual labor for its recuperating effect. It had been a very strenuous year and I was greatly run down physically. I worked that summer in a sawmill, carrying heavy lumber for ten hours each day — and I gained fifteen pounds. I remember one man who was cruelly hard worked who for a few minutes every afternoon would snatch an opportunity to lie in a hammock and rest; but even as he rested, every fibre of his nervous system calling for release from the constant strain, he would have his books with him and put in the time studying. It was not a very satisfactory rest, but it was the best he could get. Just at that time of day many people would be going by from their work and they would look up to where he was lying and call out, ‘Taking it easy, are you?’ I have often thought that this is a good picture of the professor and the attitude of the public toward him.

But the work of the teacher does not consist alone in reading and recitations. I have found that I can advantageously use a list of review questions on each book covered in my courses. So, when we finish a book, I write out from one hundred to three hundred questions covering the main points and make carbon copies for the different members of the class. And as we use twelve or fifteen different textbooks during the year, this in itself is not a small job. Besides these books there are many others which we use as parallels, and I like to write out a few questions about each of these. Of course there is nothing that compels me to do this work, but I could not neglect it and keep a good conscience — just at present I could not, though I may use some other system later. It is here that I must occasionally employ some help in typing, as I said in the discussion of extra expenditures.

I stated above that I teach twelve hours a week; but that is the ideal rather than the actual. Just at present I am teaching an extra class, which had to be handled by some one and there was no one else to take it, and that adds another three hours a week and another subject in which to read. And the teacher must always hold extra classes for those who have been out on account of sickness or for some other reason. It is hardly worth mentioning that I teach a Sunday-school class and a Y.M.C.A. Bible class, and do a few things like that. Occasionally, too, I go to neighboring schools and teachers’ institutes and make talks or, as they call it, lecture. This is tacitly understood to be a part of my regular work as it advertises the college. Really, I can hardly consider this as work, for the trips are such a change and such a break in the monotony of the regular programme that they furnish an agreeable pleasure.

One of the biggest parts of my work — and I wish it were bigger — is the personal work. I can usually find that each of my students is more or less interested along some line that is included in my work, and I try to guide him to some literature on the subject and keep up his interest, and this takes no little portion of my time when there are forty or fifty students, each reading on a different subject. And what a pleasure it is to have some of the fellows drop in occasionally and ask me about an oration or a debate, or even a sermon. I have often thought that I could give a student as much education in an hour or two of personal conversation of this kind as I could in a whole term of classroom work. But this, along with everything else, means work and time, and the outcome of it all is that the life of the professor is a constant strain, with no let up. Every day in the week, not excepting Sunday, he must be at his best, questioning, explaining, watching, drawing out; and when he is out of the class, he must be planning and studying lest he fall behind or fail in his mission.

VI

Does the teacher have any right to ask for better pay or easier conditions? To answer this question, we should look a little further into his personal life. A few months ago, I awoke one morning with an acute case of rheumatism which was so painful that I could not get out of bed. I treated this as something of a joke and was at my work again in a day or two, but this rheumatism has never completely left me. I do not anticipate any great amount of trouble with it and it ought to leave during the summer, but why has it clung so long, and why does it not go away now? I am persuaded that my naturally vigorous system would have handled that little touch of rheumatism in a few days if it were not for the fact that I have practically no reserve store of energy upon which to draw. I have realized ever since this little attack that I have been overworking and am perilously near the breaking point.

Now, just suppose that this rheumatism did not leave, but persisted in growing worse? Suppose the doctor forbade me to teach for a year and ordered me to go to some hot springs for a few months? Suppose, suppose — sometimes I think of my life insurance and wish it were ten times as much. What would become of my wife and baby if anything should happen to me? What should we do if I did have to quit teaching for a year? In the midst of such thinking, the sweat has a tendency to start out, and such situations are not good when one is not yet thirty.

And this is not an isolated case, for the teacher must constantly stand under the menacing danger of a break — a sword of Damocles. But it is comparatively rare for a teacher to succumb to a complete break-down, — comparatively rare, I say, for the actual number of those who have suffered in this way is considerable. Much more often he settles down instead of breaking down, and, at times, I am inclined to think this the more tragic of the two. He loses the freshness of delight when he turns to read an especially worthy article along his line, and he finally grows to neglect his reading almost entirely ; he learns a few books well and does not have to study; he drops behind; he gets into a rut; and, though he is still successful in a way, his life becomes humdrum to him and his work distasteful to his students. Society would be benefited if the teacher could be shielded from this kind of settling down as well as from breaking down.

It must also be borne in mind that the successful teacher could make more money at something else and make it with less effort. Twice have I stood at the threshold of remunerative careers which were seeking me rather than I seeking them; once, indeed, I was urged to reply by long-distance telephone accepting a position at least twice as lucrative as the teaching position which I held. And these opportunities come to most of the teachers. Some occasionally accept them, and they usually advise the rest of us to quit teaching as soon as possible. Just a few months ago, a professor of my acquaintance, who had been trying to pay off a little debt for about twenty-five years, at last gave it up and quit teaching for a position which gave him better pay.

The teacher needs recreation as well as rest. I am a natural hunter, camper, and fisherman, and before I was a ‘ professor’ I spent a few summers among the beauties of the Rockies. What would it not mean to me — and to my classes — if I could spend the summer in these mountains? I would come home as brown as a bear and about as hairy, and my whole being would be strung and thrilling with life and ready to pounce upon the tasks of the coming year with all the vigor of a wild thing out of the woods. I know what a difference it would make, for the last time I was there I was ten pounds heavier than I have been since. But such a thing is out of the question. Commencement day is on Tuesday and the next day, Wednesday, I begin work in the summer school. There are about three weeks during the late summer which I have left for rest and recreation. This is largely spent in catching up with the correspondence that has been gradually falling behind throughout the year, and in reading and planning for the coming year’s work. I usually spend a few days visiting my own and my wife’s people, but our trip is so hurried that it is apt to tire us more than it rests us.

I play a little tennis occasionally and really enjoy it, but my private honest testimony must be that it is a poor substitute for riding a good horse over forty miles of plateau or casting a trout-fly in foaming mountain waters. I saw a statement once to the effect that it was hard to inflict lawn-tennis habits on a football soul, and I have a football soul in all I try to do; and I believe that if I cannot get a physical expression of this occasionally I cannot long sustain a football attitude toward my work. My wife and I have been planning a delightful trip to the Panama Exposition at San Francisco; I say we have been, for even now, eighteen months before the event, we realize that it is utterly beyond the possible.

Of course the conditions will probably become somewhat better as time goes on. If we stay in one place long enough, the household expenses will become smaller, some of the other items of expense may be lowered, we may learn how to manage better, and we may even get a little better salary. Perhaps a more honest way to put it would be to say that I would settle down a bit and have some time and money for other things besides my work. I may even get to the place where I can spare time to keep chickens or a cow, and that would help immensely; but I am so constituted that chickens or a cow would certainly cripple my work.

VII

In all this, I have taken for granted that I shall get no more schooling; but this is an unbearable thought to me, for I am hungry, yes, craving, for the research laboratory. The university has even a greater drawing power than the smell of damp sage-brush and rabbit-weed on the mountain plains. I stated in the beginning that I am not a failure, and I know I would ‘make good’ in advanced work if I only had the chance. I know from the letters of the president (and I have been surprised at their friendliness and personal tone) that there is a place for me there and a fellowship for me if I want to ask for it. But a fellowship pays only a fraction of t he expenses, and even if no sickness comes to us, no disaster happens, and we indulge in no trips or recreations, it will take us about five years to save enough to justify my reëntering the university. But by then I would have fallen far behind the times, and very probably would have settled down to a more or less listless life. And besides, what may not happen in that time to sweep away all the money that I might save, a few dollars at a time? And what future would there be for me if I did return ? I might secure a bigger position after I had taken a doctor’s degree, but the men higher up tell us that with the bigger salaries there go greater expenses, and that there is no better chance to save money there than here. This being the case, can I dare to go in debt for some more schooling?

It was with all these thoughts in mind that I appealed frankly to the university president and asked him what to do. And the big-souled man realized my longings and desires and yet could not advise me to borrow the money to return. ‘You know how we all want you here,’he said, ‘and it is hard to give an impartial reply.’ But he went on to tell me that many who had gone on and finished their work did not have as good a place as I, and said that he did not believe I would ever again find a place where, all things considered, I could do as much good and do it with as much pleasure to myself.

Many of these details will seem very crude, even to other teachers in small colleges, and I suppose there are no others who meet their problems in exactly the same way that I do; but they all have struggles, and each has his own individual way of waging the warfare. Many keep cows and sell milk, hundreds keep chickens, and some even raise their own hogs, and in this way secure their meat. There are some fortunate professors who have other sources of income aside from their salary, money perhaps which they have inherited or married, and some of these get along very well and are able to do splendid work. I know one man who takes orders for clothing and advertises in the college paper; some lecture in institutes and chautauquas, some sell books through the summer and make more at it than they do by their teaching, and many a professor’s wife keeps lodgers and some even keep boarders. As a rule they say very little about all this, but go quietly ahead with their work and fight their battles out in silence.

As I recall the ones I have intimately known, I realize how very true it is that each has had his struggles. I know one especially capable professor who for twenty years has been planning and looking forward to a whole year at Harvard. Occasionally he spends a summer in research work, but his year at Harvard seems as far off as ever. His hair is gray and is rapidly turning white, but he laughs heartily and says he is still planning his full year of university work and expects to have it before he dies.

Professors are accused of being visionary and impractical. It would take another paper the length of this to handle this question, but it will not be out of place here to say that in a certain sense, they are visionary; but the visions they cherish are being certainly and surely realized and made manifest to the world. If they did not possess vision they would never stay in their chosen profession, but would seek more lucrative fields elsewhere. Also, if they did not possess vision the world would stagnate, and science and civilization would remain at a standstill or revert to primitive conditions. Knowing better than any others that ‘Though the mills of the gods grind slowly, yet they grind exceedingly small,’ they almost unconsciously take for their motto ‘Let there be light,’ and quietly and determinedly go on with their work. For make light of the statement as we will, it is still true that there are some things better and greater than money.