professors, on their return, reported a most enjoyable time. Dick
returned with a greater comprehension of the general fields of the
particular professors than he could have gained in years at their
class-lectures. And time thus gained, enabled him to continue to cut
lectures and to devote more time to laboratory work.

Nor did he miss having his good college time. College widows made love
to him, and college girls loved him, and he was indefatigable in his
dancing. He never cut a smoker, a beer bust, or a rush, and he toured
the Pacific Coast with the Banjo and Mandolin Club.

And yet he was no prodigy. He was brilliant at nothing. Half a dozen
of his fellows could out-banjo and out-mandolin him. A dozen fellows
were adjudged better dancers than he. In football, and he gained the
Varsity in his Sophomore year, he was considered a solid and
dependable player, and that was all. It seemed never his luck to take
the ball and go down the length of the field while the Blue and Gold
host tore itself and the grandstand to pieces. But it was at the end
of heart-breaking, grueling slog in mud and rain, the score tied, the
second half imminent to its close, Stanford on the five-yard line,
Berkeley's ball, with two downs and three yards to gain--it was then
that the Blue and Gold arose and chanted its demand for Forrest to hit
the center and hit it hard.

He never achieved super-excellence at anything. Big Charley Everson
drank him down at the beer busts. Harrison Jackson, at hammer-
throwing, always exceeded his best by twenty feet. Carruthers out-
pointed him at boxing. Anson Burge could always put his shoulders to
the mat, two out of three, but always only by the hardest work. In
English composition a fifth of his class excelled him. Edlin, the