years now since we received the last letter from any
Heidelberg chum. Are they all killed, perhaps? And when we can
communicate again, after the war, think of what I must write them! Carl
was a revelation to most of them--they would talk about him to me, and
ask if all Americans were like him, so fresh in spirit, so clean, so
sincere, so full of fun, and, with it all, doing the finest work of all
of them but one in the University.

The economics students tried to think of some way of influencing Alfred
Weber to give another course of lectures at the University. He was in
retirement at Heidelberg, but still the adored of the students. Finally,
they decided that a committee of three should represent them and make a
personal appeal. Carl was one of the three chosen. The report soon flew
around, how, in Weber's august presence, the Amerikaner had stood with
his hands in his pockets--even sat for a few moments on the edge of
Weber's desk. The two Germans, posed like ramrods, expected to see such
informality shoved out bodily. Instead, when they took their leave, the
Herr Professor had actually patted the Amerikaner on the shoulder, and
said he guessed he would give the lectures.

Then his report in Gothein's Seminar, which went so well that I fairly
burst with pride. He had worked day and night on that. I was to meet him
at eight after it had been given, and we were to have a celebration. I
was standing by the entrance to the University building when out came an
enthused group of jabbering German students, Carl in their midst. They
were patting him on the back, shaking his hands furiously; and when they
saw me, they rushed to tell me of Carl's success and how Gothein had
said before all that it had been the best paper presented that semester.

I find myself smiling as I write this--I was too happy that night to
eat.

The Sunday trips we made up the Neckar: each morning early we would take
the train and ride to where we had walked the Sunday previous; then we
would tramp as far as we could,--meaning until dark,--have lunch at some
untouristed inn along the road, or perhaps eat a picnic lunch of our own
in some old castle ruin, and then ride home. Oh, those Sundays! I tell
you no two people in all this world, since people were, have ever had
_one_ day like those Sundays. And we had them almost every week. It
would have been worth going to Germany for just one of those days.

There was the gay, glad party that the Economic