“‘No less,’ says Andy.

“‘Then, to Helvetia with philanthropy,’ says I.

“‘Not necessarily,’ says Andy.  ‘Philanthropy,’ says he, ’when run on a good business basis is one of the best grafts going.  I’ll look into the matter and see if it can’t be straightened out.’

“The next week I am looking over the payroll of our faculty when I run across a new name—­Professor James Darnley McCorkle, chair of mathematics; salary $100 per week.  I yells so loud that Andy runs in quick.

“‘What’s this,’ says I.  ’A professor of mathematics at more than $5,000 a year?  How did this happen?  Did he get in through the window and appoint himself?’

“‘I wired to Frisco for him a week ago,’ says Andy.  ’In ordering the faculty we seemed to have overlooked the chair of mathematics.’

“‘A good thing we did,’ says I.  ’We can pay his salary two weeks, and then our philanthropy will look like the ninth hole 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 philanthropy business the better it looks to me.  I never thought about investigating it before.  Come to think of it now,’ goes on Andy, ’all the philanthropists I ever knew had plenty of money.  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 was flourishing fine, and me and Andy kept our silk hats shined up, and Floresville kept on heaping honors on us like we was millionaires instead of almost busted philanthropists.

“The students kept the town lively and prosperous.  Some stranger came to town and started a faro bank over the Red Front livery stable, and began to amass money in quantities.  Me and Andy strolled up one night and piked a dollar or two for sociability.  There were about fifty of our students there drinking rum punches and shoving high stacks of blues and reds about the table as the dealer turned the cards up.

“‘Why, dang it, Andy,’ says I, ’these free-school-hunting, gander-headed, silk-socked little sons of sap-suckers have got more money than you and me ever had.  Look at the rolls they’re pulling out of their pistol pockets?’

“‘Yes,’ says Andy, ’a good many of them are sons of wealthy miners and stockmen.  It’s very sad to see ’em wasting their opportunities this way.’

“At Christmas all the students went home to spend the holidays.  We had a farewell blowout at the University, and Andy lectured on ’Modern Music and Prehistoric Literature of the Archipelagos.’  Each one of the faculty answered to toasts, and compared me and Andy to Rockefeller and the Emperor Marcus Autolycus.  I pounded on the table and yelled for Professor McCorkle; but it seems he wasn’t present on the occasion.  I wanted a look at the man that Andy thought could earn $100 a week in philanthropy that was on the point of making an assignment.