k Cohen burst into my room about nine o'clock at night, in company
with another Jewish freshman. The other one was dogged, frightened, and,
when he was behind my closed door, began to cry noiselessly. As for
Frank, who was made of stronger stuff, he sat silent in his chair,
grasping its arms and trying to control the intensity of some revulsion
which had come over him.

They told me quickly what had happened. They were just from a meeting of
freshman candidates for the college newspaper. The meeting had been
called in order to instruct these candidates in the rules and
qualifications of the competition. All men who cared to enter the
competition had been invited. Two men had made speeches: the
editor-in-chief and the managing editor of the paper, Sayer and Braley
by name.

These had been cordial speeches, urging all men present at the meeting
to work hard in this competition. There had been speeches of
encouragement, in glowing colors--and then, at the end of it all, in
front of the fifty-odd youths who were assembled there, Braley had
closed his speech with this:

"We wish to say that any Jew who may have it in mind to enter this
competition might as well save himself the pains. We shall not even
consider the election of a Jew to the board."

Immediately a gasp, then a snicker had run through the roomful; then
necks had craned and heads turned to catch looks at Frank and the other
freshman who stood, flushed and humiliated, in their midst.

Then the meeting had broken up, and the other candidates, taking their
cue from Braley's speech, stood aside to let Frank and his companion
pass down through whispering, giggling aisles. They had tried to go
calmly, unconcernedly, as if the shock of the insult meant nothing to
them. But the other Jewish freshman had broken down, and Frank had to
put his arm around him to keep him up and straight upon his path through
the crowd's midst, out upon the campus and over to my dormitory.

I sat a little while silent after I heard them tell of it. I was as much
stunned as they--and sickened too. I had thought all that sort of thing
was done with. I had hoped it was all past, even forgotten--and here it
was, leaping up again to confront, to threaten, to jeer at us. I had
only dimly imagined the possibility of it. I had no plan, no hint of how
I should go about it.

Two years ago, if this had happened, I should not have cared one way or
the other. I should have crawled away into a cor