A Master's Degree [8]
to subdue, the late afternoon sunlight falling on his brown face and glinting in his auburn hair.
"It's as pretty as paradise," he said, simply. "There's nothing like our Kansas prairies."
"You come from the plains out west, I hear. How long do you plan to stay here, Burleigh?" Dr. Fenneben asked.
"Four years if I can make it go. I've got a little schooling and I know how to herd cattle. I need more than this, if I am only a country boy."
"Who pays for your schooling, yourself, or your father?" Fenneben queried.
"I have no father nor mother now."
"You are willing to work four years to get a diploma from Sunrise? It is hard work; all the harder if you have not had much schooling before it."
"I'm willing to work, and I'd like to have the diploma for it," Vic answered.
"Burleigh, did you notice the letter S carved in the stone above the door?"
"Yes, sir; I suppose it stands for Sunrise?"
"It does. But with the years it will take on new meanings for you. When you have learned all these meanings you will be ready for your diploma-- and more. You will be far on your way to the winning of a Master's Degree."
Vic's eyes widened with a sort of child-like simplicity. He forgot his hat and the chair arms, and Dr. Fenneben noted for the first time that his golden-brown eyes matching his auburn hair were shaded by long black lashes, the kind artists rave about, and arched over with black brows.
"His eyes and voice are all right," was the Dean's mental comment. "There's good blood in his veins, I'll wager."
But before he could speak further the shrill scream of a frightened child came from the campus below the ridge. At the cry Vic Burleigh sprang to his feet, upsetting his chair, and without stopping to pick it up, he rushed from the building.
As he tore down the long flight of steps, Lloyd Fenneben caught sight of a child on the level campus running toward him as fast as its fat little legs could toddle. Two minutes later Vic Burleigh was back in the study, panting and hot, with the little one clinging to his neck.
"Excuse me, please," Vic said as he lifted the fallen chair. "I forgot all about Bug down there, and the widow Bull"-- he gave a half-smile--"was wriggling around trying to find her mate, and scared him. He's too little to be left alone, anyhow."
Bug was a sturdy, stubby three-year-old, or less, dimpled and brown, with big dark eyes and a tangle of soft little red-brown ringlets. As Vic seated himself, Bug perched on the arm of the chair inside of the big boy's encircling arm.
"Who is your friend? Is he your brother?" asked the Dean.
"No. He's no relation. I don't know anything about him, except that his name is Buler. Bug Buler, he says."
Little Bug put up a chubby brown hand loving-wise to Vic Burleigh's brown cheek, and, looking straight at Dr. Fenneben with wide serious eyes, he asked,
"Is you dood to Vic?"
"Yes, indeed," replied the Dean.
"Nen, I like you fornever," Bug declared, shutting his lips so tightly that his checks puffed.
"How do you happen to have this child here, Burleigh?" questioned Fenneben.
"Because he's got nobody else to look after him," answered Vic.
"How about an orphan asylum?
Vic looked down at the little fellow cuddled against his arm, and every feature of his stern face softened.
"Will it make any difference about him if I get my lessons, sir? I can't let Bug go now. We are the limit for each other--neither of us got anybody else. I take care of him, but he keeps me from getting too coarse and rough. Every fellow needs something innocent and good about him sometimes."
"Oh, no! Keep him if you want him. But would you mind telling me about him?"
"I'd rather not now," Burleigh said, quietly, and Lloyd Fenneben knew when to drop a subject.
"Then I'm through with you for today, Burleigh. I must let Miss Saxon have my room now. Come here whenever you like, and bring Bug if you care to."
Sunrise students always left Dr. Fenneben's study with a little more of self-respect than when they entered
"It's as pretty as paradise," he said, simply. "There's nothing like our Kansas prairies."
"You come from the plains out west, I hear. How long do you plan to stay here, Burleigh?" Dr. Fenneben asked.
"Four years if I can make it go. I've got a little schooling and I know how to herd cattle. I need more than this, if I am only a country boy."
"Who pays for your schooling, yourself, or your father?" Fenneben queried.
"I have no father nor mother now."
"You are willing to work four years to get a diploma from Sunrise? It is hard work; all the harder if you have not had much schooling before it."
"I'm willing to work, and I'd like to have the diploma for it," Vic answered.
"Burleigh, did you notice the letter S carved in the stone above the door?"
"Yes, sir; I suppose it stands for Sunrise?"
"It does. But with the years it will take on new meanings for you. When you have learned all these meanings you will be ready for your diploma-- and more. You will be far on your way to the winning of a Master's Degree."
Vic's eyes widened with a sort of child-like simplicity. He forgot his hat and the chair arms, and Dr. Fenneben noted for the first time that his golden-brown eyes matching his auburn hair were shaded by long black lashes, the kind artists rave about, and arched over with black brows.
"His eyes and voice are all right," was the Dean's mental comment. "There's good blood in his veins, I'll wager."
But before he could speak further the shrill scream of a frightened child came from the campus below the ridge. At the cry Vic Burleigh sprang to his feet, upsetting his chair, and without stopping to pick it up, he rushed from the building.
As he tore down the long flight of steps, Lloyd Fenneben caught sight of a child on the level campus running toward him as fast as its fat little legs could toddle. Two minutes later Vic Burleigh was back in the study, panting and hot, with the little one clinging to his neck.
"Excuse me, please," Vic said as he lifted the fallen chair. "I forgot all about Bug down there, and the widow Bull"-- he gave a half-smile--"was wriggling around trying to find her mate, and scared him. He's too little to be left alone, anyhow."
Bug was a sturdy, stubby three-year-old, or less, dimpled and brown, with big dark eyes and a tangle of soft little red-brown ringlets. As Vic seated himself, Bug perched on the arm of the chair inside of the big boy's encircling arm.
"Who is your friend? Is he your brother?" asked the Dean.
"No. He's no relation. I don't know anything about him, except that his name is Buler. Bug Buler, he says."
Little Bug put up a chubby brown hand loving-wise to Vic Burleigh's brown cheek, and, looking straight at Dr. Fenneben with wide serious eyes, he asked,
"Is you dood to Vic?"
"Yes, indeed," replied the Dean.
"Nen, I like you fornever," Bug declared, shutting his lips so tightly that his checks puffed.
"How do you happen to have this child here, Burleigh?" questioned Fenneben.
"Because he's got nobody else to look after him," answered Vic.
"How about an orphan asylum?
Vic looked down at the little fellow cuddled against his arm, and every feature of his stern face softened.
"Will it make any difference about him if I get my lessons, sir? I can't let Bug go now. We are the limit for each other--neither of us got anybody else. I take care of him, but he keeps me from getting too coarse and rough. Every fellow needs something innocent and good about him sometimes."
"Oh, no! Keep him if you want him. But would you mind telling me about him?"
"I'd rather not now," Burleigh said, quietly, and Lloyd Fenneben knew when to drop a subject.
"Then I'm through with you for today, Burleigh. I must let Miss Saxon have my room now. Come here whenever you like, and bring Bug if you care to."
Sunrise students always left Dr. Fenneben's study with a little more of self-respect than when they entered