“I see,” I said, “and what were you co-opting?”
“I co-opted Turkish, Music, and Religion,” he answered.
“Oh, yes,” I said with a sort of reverential respect, “fitting yourself for a position of choir-master in a Turkish cathedral, no doubt.”
“No, no,” he said, “I’m going into insurance; but, you see, those subjects fitted in better than anything else.”
“Fitted in?”
“Yes. Turkish comes at nine, music at ten and religion at eleven. So they make a good combination; they leave a man free to”
“To develop his mind,” I said. “We used to find in my college days that lectures interfered with it badly. But now, Turkish, that must be an interesting language, eh?”
“Search me!” said the student. “All you have to do is answer the roll and go out. Forty roll-calls give you one Turkish unit—but, say, I must get on, I’ve got to change. So long.”
I could not help reflecting, as the young man left me, on the great changes that have come over our college education. It was a relief to me later in the day to talk with a quiet, sombre man, himself a graduate student in philosophy, on this topic. He agreed with me
