es.

One of these boys wrote to me after Carl's death:--

"When I heard that Doc had gone, one of the finest and cleanest men I
have ever had the privilege of associating with, I seemed to have
stopped thinking. It didn't seem possible to me, and I can remember very
clearly of thinking what a rotten world this is when we have to live and
lose a man like Doc. I have talked to two men who were associated with
him in somewhat the same manner as I was, and we simply looked at one
another after the first sentences, and then I guess the thoughts of a
man who had made so much of an impression on our minds drove coherent
speech away. . . . I have had the opportunity since leaving college of
experiencing something real besides college life and I can't remember
during all that period of not having wondered how Dr. Parker would
handle this or that situation. He was simply immense to me at all times,
and if love of a man-to-man kind does exist, then I truthfully can say
that I had that love for him."

Of the letters received from students of those years I should like to
quote a passage here and there.

An aviator in France writes: "There was no man like him in my college
life. Believe me, he has been a figure in all we do over here,--we who
knew him,--and a reason for our doing, too. His loss is so great to all
of us! . . . He was so fine he will always push us on to finding the truth
about things. That was his great spark, wasn't it?"

From a second lieutenant in France: "I loved Carl. He was far more to me
than just a friend--he was father, brother, and friend all in one. He
influenced, as you know, everything I have done since I knew him--for it
was his enthusiasm which has been the force which determined the
direction of my work. And the bottom seemed to have fallen out of my
whole scheme of things when the word just came to me."

From one of the young officers at Camp Lewis: "When E---- told me about
Carl's illness last Wednesday, I resolved to go and see him the coming
week-end. I carried out my resolution, only to find that I could see
neither him nor you. [This was the day before Carl's death.] It was a
great disappointment to me, so I left some flowers and went away. . . . I
simply could not leave Seattle without seeing Carl once more, so I made
up my mind to go out to the undertaker's. The friends I was with
discouraged the idea, but it was too strong within me. There was a void
within me which could only be filled