to the one
question that was bothering him, his college life would need nothing to
make it wholly satisfying. He had early forgotten all his old reluctance
to put college before business.

Marty knew something of what was passing in J.W.'s mind, and it
troubled him a little. He thought of tackling J.W. himself, and by this
time there was nothing under the sun they could not discuss with each
other freely. But he did not quite trust himself.

At last he made up his mind to write to their pastor at home. He knew
that for some reason Mr. Drury had a peculiar interest in J.W. and was
sure he could count on it now.

"I know J.W.'s bothered," he wrote, "but he doesn't talk about it. I
think he has been disturbed by hearing so much about special calls to
special work. We've had several lifework meetings lately, and the needs
of the world have been pretty strongly stated. But the stand he took at
the Institute is just as right for him as mine is for me. Can't you
write to him, or something?"

Walter Drury could do better than write. He turned up at Cartwright that
same week.

It happened that three or four prospective preachers and Christian
workers had been in their room that afternoon, and J.W. was trying to
think the thing through once more. He recalled what his pastor had said
at the camp fire, and his own testimony on Institute Sunday in the
life-service meeting, after Marcia Dayne had put it up to him. But he
was making heavy weather of it. And just then came the pastor's knock at
the door.

There was a boisterous welcome from them both, with something like
relief in J.W.'s heart, that he would not, could not speak. But he could
get help now. For the sake of saying something he asked the usual
question. "What in the world brings you to Cartwright?"

"Oh," said Pastor Drury, "I like to come to Cartwright. Your President's
an old friend. Besides, why shouldn't I come to see you two, if I wish?
You are still part of my flock, you know."

So they talked of anything and everything. By and by Marty said he must
go over to the library, and pretty soon J.W. was telling his friend the
pastor all that had been disturbing him.

"It all began in the summer before I came to college, at the Institute
here, you know, when you spoke at the camp fire on Saturday night."

"I remember," the pastor replied. "You hadn't taken much interest in
your future work before that?"

"No real interest, I guess," J.W. admitted. "I'd always