He was pulling for the Laurel Wreath of
Scholarship, or in other words, the Degree. After humping it for 4
years he passed his final Exam and the Faculty decided that he was a
Bachelor of Arts.
That was the Day when he had the Laugh on Brad.
In the meantime, Bradford had been choking various People and taking
it away from them. He had four Salesmen under him and had butted into
the Firm, but he was still shy on Botany.
Inasmuch as Otis had been one of the brightest Men in his Class he was
offered a position as Instructor in the College at a Salary of $55
a Month with a promise of $5 raise at the end of five Years, if he
lived. Otis accepted, because the Outside World did not seem to be
clamoring for his Services, even though he was an Authority on the
Mezozoic Period and knew all the Diatomes by their First Names.
[Illustration: _M.A._]
Often while he was burning the Midnight Oil and grinding out
Jaw-Breakers, so as to qualify for the Master's Degree, he reflected
as follows: "It is true that Brad is making it Hand over Fist and
wears $6 Shirts and rides in a State-Room on the Pullman, but he is
not a Bachelor of Arts. And some day when he is a Multi-Millionaire
I can still look down on him, for then I shall be a Master of Arts.
I have known since Childhood that Education is more desirable than
Paltry Gold. Although the Newspapers and the General Public do not
seem to be with me to any Extent, it is better to hob-nob with the
Binomial Theorem than to dally with the Champagne Supper.
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