was for Carlos Dix, the Northfield graduate. The boy had built a picture of Northfield alumni holding to their school as citizens held to their country. One line of the school hymn ran: "Thy stalwart sons forever true"—and to him the words stood for something real and vital. With a boy's ardor for passionate devotion he gave of his soul to Northfield High. He reasoned now, as he had reasoned before, that there was nothing wrong in Carlos Dix working for Mr. Ballinger and for Northfield; but Bristow had driven home the belief that to Carlos Dix, Mr. Ballinger's interests had come first. And, to Praska, that was akin to sacrilege.
The lawyer's hand gripped his with a pressure that was firm and sincere. "Where have you been keeping yourself? Fine thing, isn't it, for one veteran of Northfield's fight for a field to drop out of touch with another? What's bothering you? Final exams?"
Praska shook his head. "I want to go to work and Mr. Banning thinks I ought to go to the State University."
Twice the lawyer stole a glance at the boy. "If I get too personal, George, why just head me off. I want to dig into this thing. Is it finances?"
"No, sir. I'd have to work only part of my way; I could do that."
