The Vision Splendid. William MacLeod Raine

for the cause. There was no difficulty in getting him to attend the meetings of the revivalist. But he sat motionless through the emotional climax that brought to an end each meeting. To him it seemed that this was not in any vital sense religion, but he was careful not to suggest his feeling by so much as a word.

      One or two of his companions invited him to come to Jesus. He disconcerted them by showing an unexpected familiarity with the Scriptures as a weapon of offense against them.

      James invited him to his rooms and labored with him. Jeff resorted to the Socratic method. From what sins was he to be saved? And when would he know he had found salvation?

      His cousin uneasily explained the formula. “You must believe in Christ and Him crucified. You must surrender your will to His. Shall we pray together?”

      “I'd rather not, J. K. First, I want to get some points clear. Do you mean that I'm to believe in what Jesus said and to try to live as he suggested?”

      “Yes.”

      Jeff picked up his cousin's Bible and read a passage. “'We know that we have passed from death unto life, BECAUSE WE LOVE THE BRETHREN. He that loveth not his brother abideth in death.' That's the test, isn't it?”

      “Well, you have to be converted,” James said dubiously.

      “Isn't that conversion—loving your brother? And if a man is willing to live in plenty while his brother is in poverty, if he exploits those weaker than himself to help him get along, then he can't be really converted, can he?”

      “Now see here, Jeff, you've got the wrong idea. Christ didn't come into the world to reform it, but to save it from its sins. He wasn't merely a man, but the Divine Son of God.”

      “I don't understand the dual nature of Jesus. But when one reads His life it is easy to believe in His divinity.” After a moment the young man added: “In one way we're all divine sons of God, aren't we?”

      James was shocked. “Where do you get such notions? None of our people were infidels.”

      “Am I one?”

      “You ought to take advantage of this chance. It's not right to set your opinion up against those that know better.”

      “And that's what I'm doing, isn't it?” Jeff smiled. “Can't help it. I reckon I can't be saved by my emotions. It's going to be a life job.”

      James gave him up, but he sent another Senior to make a last attempt. The young man was Thurston Thomas and he had never exchanged six sentences with Jeff in his life. The unrepentant sinner sent him to the right about sharply.

      “What the devil do you mean by running about officiously and bothering about other people's souls? Better look out for your own.”

      Thomas, a scion of one of the best families in Verden, looked as if he had been slapped in the face.

      “Why Farnum, I—I spoke for your good.”

      “No, you didn't,” contradicted Jeff flatly. “You don't care a hang about me. You've never noticed me before. We're not friends. You've always disliked me. But you want the credit of bringing me into the fold. It's damned impertinent of you.”

      The Senior retired with a white face. He was furious, but he thought it due himself to turn the other cheek by saying nothing. He reported his version to a circle of friends, and from them it spread like grass seed in the wind. Soon it was generally known that Jeff Farnum had grossly insulted with blasphemy a man who had tried to save his soul.

      Two days later Miller met Jeff at the door of Frome 15.

      “You're in bad! Jeff. What the deuce did you do to Sissy Thomas?”

      “Gave him some good advice.”

      Miller grinned. “I'll bet you did. The little cad has been poisoning the wells against you. Look there.”

      A young woman of their class had passed into the room. Her glance had fallen upon Farnum and been quickly averted.

      “That's the first time Bessie Vroom ever cut you,” Sam continued angrily. “Thomas is responsible. I've heard the story a dozen times already.”

      “I only told him to mind his own business.”

      “He can't. He's a born meddler. Now he's queered you with the whole place.”

      “Can't help it. I wasn't going to let him get away with his impudence. Why should I?”

      Miller shrugged. “Policy, my boy. Better take the advice of Cousin James and crawl into your shell till the storm has pelted past.”

      Half an hour later Jeff met his cousin near the chapel and was taken to task.

      “What's this I hear about your insulting Thomas?”

      “You have it wrong. He insulted me,” Jeff corrected with a smile.

      “Tommyrot! Why couldn't you treat him right?”

      “Didn't like to throw him through the window on account of littering up the lawn with broken glass.”

      James K.'s handsome square-cut face did not relax to a smile. “You may think this a joke, but I don't. I've heard the Chancellor is going to call you on the carpet.”

      “If he does he'll learn what I think.”

      The upper classman's anger boiled over. “You might think of me a little.”

      “Didn't know you were in this, J. K.”

      “They know I'm your cousin. It's hurting my reputation.”

      A faint ironic smile touched Jeff's face. “No, James, I'm helping it. Ever notice how blondes and brunettes chum together. Value of contrasts, you see. I'm a moral brunette. You're a shining example of all a man should be. I simply emphasize your greatness.”

      “That's not the way it works,” his cousin grumbled.

      “That's just how it works. Best thing that could happen to you would be for me to get expelled. Shall I?”

      Jeff offered his suggestion debonairly.

      “Of course not.”

      “It would give you just the touch of halo you need to finish the picture. Think of it: your noble head bowed in grief because of the unworthy relative you had labored so hard to save; the sympathy of the faculty, the respect of the fellows, the shy adoration of the co-eds. Great Brutus bowed by the sorrow of a strong man's unrepining emotion. By Jove, I ought to give you the chance. You'd look the part to admiration.”

      For a moment James saw himself in the role and coveted it. Jeff read his thought, and his laughter brought his cousin back to earth. He had the irritated sense of having been caught.

      “It's not an occasion for talking nonsense,” he said coldly.

      Jeff sensed his disgrace in the stiff politeness of the professors and in the embarrassed aloofness of his classmates. Some of the men frankly gave him a wide berth as if he had been a moral pervert.

      His temperament was sensitive to slights and he fell into one of his rare depressions. One afternoon he took the car for the city. He wanted to get away from himself and from his environment.

      A chill mist was in the air. Drawn by the bright lights, Jeff entered a saloon and sat down in an alcove with his arms on the table. Why did they hammer him so because he told the truth as he saw it? Why must he toady to the ideas of Bland as everybody else at the University seemed to do? He was not respectable enough for them. That was the trouble. They were pushing him back into the gutter whence he had emerged. Wild fragmentary thoughts chased themselves across the record of his brain.

      Almost before he knew it he had ordered and drunk a highball. Immediately his horizon lightened. With the second glass his depression vanished. He felt equal to anything.

      It