events to a young economic enthusiast one year out of college, studying
Trade-Unionism in the London School of Economics.

Then there was his South-African trip. He was sent there by a London
firm, to expert a mine near Johannesburg. Although he cabled five times,
said firm sent no money. The bitter disgust and anguish of those
weeks--neither of us ever had much patience under such circumstances.
But he experted his mine, and found it absolutely worthless; explored
the veldt on a second-hand bicycle, cooked little meals of bacon and
mush wherever he found himself, and wrote to me. Meanwhile he learned
much, studied the coolie question, investigated mine-workings, was
entertained by his old college mates--mining experts themselves--in
Johannesburg. There was the letter telling of the bull fight at
Zanzibar, or Delagoa Bay, or some seafaring port thereabouts, that broke
his heart, it was such a disappointment--"it made a Kappa tea look gory
by comparison." And the letter that regretfully admitted that perhaps,
after all, Persia would not just do to settle down in. About that time
he wanted California with a fearful want, and was all done with foreign
parts, and declared that any place just big enough for two suited
him--it did not need to be as far away as Persia after all. At last he
borrowed money to get back to Europe, claiming that "he had learned his
lesson and learned it hard." And finally he came home as fast as ever he
could reach Berkeley--did not stop even to telegraph.

I had planned for months a dress I knew he would love to have me greet
him in. It was hanging ready in the closet. As it was, I had started to
retire--in the same room with a Freshman whom I was supposed to be
"rushing" hard--when I heard a soft whistle--our whistle--under my
window. My heart stopped beating. I just grabbed a raincoat and threw it
over me, my hair down in a braid, and in the middle of a sentence to the