“‘Not necessarily，’ says Andy. ‘Philanthropy，’ says he，‘when run on a good business basis is one of the bestgrafts going. I’ll look into the matter and see if it can’t bestraightened out.’
“The next week I am looking over the payroll of ourfaculty when I run across a new name—Professor JamesDarnley McCorkle， chair of mathematics； salary 100 perweek. I yells so loud that Andy runs in quick.
“‘What’s this，’ says I. ‘A professor of mathematics atmore than 5，000 a year？ How did this happen？ Did heget in through the window and appoint himself？’
“‘I wired to Frisco for him a week ago，’ says Andy. ‘Inordering the faculty we seemed to have overlooked thechair of mathematics.’
“‘A good thing we did，’ says I. ‘We can pay his salary twoweeks， and then our philanthropy will look like the ninthhole on the Skibo golf links.’
“‘Wait a while，’ says Andy， ‘and see how things turn out.
We have taken up too noble a cause to draw out now.
Besides， the further I gaze into the retail philanthropybusiness the better it looks to me. I never thought aboutinvestigating it before. Come to think of it now，’ goes onAndy， ‘all the philanthropists I ever knew had plenty ofmoney. I ought to have looked into that matter long ago，and located which was the cause and which was the effect.’
“I had confidence in Andy’s chicanery in financial affairs，so I left the whole thing in his hands. The University wasflourishing fine， and me and Andy kept our silk hats shinedup， and Floresville kept on heaping honors on us like wewas millionaires instead of almost busted philanthropists.
“The students kept the town lively and prosperous.
Some stranger came to town and started a faro bank overthe Red Front livery stable， and began to amass money inquantities. Me and Andy strolled up one night and pikeda dollar or two for sociability. There were about fifty ofour students there drinking rum punches and shovinghigh stacks of blues and reds about the table as the dealerturned the cards up.
“‘Why， dang it， Andy，’ says I， ‘these free-school-hunting，gander-headed， silk-socked little sons of sap-suckers havegot more money than you and me ever had. Look at therolls they’re pulling out of their pistol pockets？’
“‘Yes，’ says Andy， ‘a good many of them are sons of wealthyminers and stockmen. It’s very sad to see ’em wasting theiropportunities this way.’
“At Christmas all the students went home to spend theholidays. We had a farewell blowout at the University， andAndy lectured on ‘Modern Music and Prehistoric Literatureof the Archipelagos.’ Each one of the faculty answeredto toasts， and compared me and Andy to Rockefeller andthe Emperor Marcus Autolycus. I pounded on the tableand yelled for Professor McCorkle； but it seems he wasn’tpresent on the occasion. I wanted a look at the man thatAndy thought could earn 100 a week in philanthropythat was on the point of making an assignment.
“The students all left on the night train； and the townsounded as quiet as the campus of a correspondenceschool at midnight. When I went to the hotel I saw a lightin Andy’s room， and I opened the door and walked in.
“There sat Andy and the faro dealer at a table dividinga two-foot high stack of currency in thousand-dollarpackages.
“‘Correct，’ says Andy. ‘Thirty-one thousand apiece. Comein， Jeff，’ says he. ‘This is our share of the profits of thefirst half of the scholastic term of the World’s University，incorporated and philanthropated. Are you convinced now，’
says Andy， ‘that philanthropy when practiced in a businessway is an art that blesses him who gives as well as him whoreceives？’
“‘Great！’ says I， feeling fine. ‘I’ll admit you are the doctorthis time.’
“‘We’ll be leaving on the morning train，’ says Andy.
‘You’d better get your collars and cuffs and press clippingstogether.’
“‘Great！’ says I. ‘I’ll be ready. But， Andy，’ says I， ‘I wish Icould have met that Professor James Darnley McCorklebefore we went. I had a curiosity to know that man.’
“‘That’ll be easy，’ says Andy， turning around to the farodealer.
“‘Jim，’ says Andy， ‘shake hands with Mr. Peters.’”