"Oh, we are the men of the I. C. S.

We are making real money now!

The hours after supper will do it for you;

I. C. S. will show you how.

No more of financial embarrassment,

No more of worry and harassment,

We have found the key to Success.

Three cheers for the school that gave us our start,

Three cheers for the I. C. S."

The familiar words of the beloved Alma Mater song came to my ears as I approached the banquet hall where the Alumni Association of the International Correspondence School was congregating for its annual dinner. I paused. My thoughts flashed back to that day when, all unwittingly, I had made a momentous decision, which has affected my whole life.

My friend, Tom, and I had been filled with the abounding zest and ambition of youth. We were determined to make something of ourselves, to go out into the world and do big things in a big way. One day Tom showed me the modest prospectus of the I. C. S., flanked on one side by a Holeproof Hosiery miss and on the other by an earnest exhortation to "Ask Dad, He Knows."

"That for mine," Tom declared in positive tones. "I am going, without obligation on my part, to mark with an X the subject or subjects in which I am particularly interested. Come on, it's the chance of a life-time."

But I, innocent fool that I was, shook my head. "There's nothing in it," I asserted. "Now I am going to get a liberal education in fifteen minutes a day by reading Dr. Eliot's Five-Foot Shelves. Join me, Tom, and you'll never regret it."

Tom, however, was obdurate, and our ways parted. While I fought my way, inch by inch, through the Five-Foot Shelf, Tom spent his evenings improving himself by the I. C. S. method. By the time I reached the foot mark, Tom's salary had been raised. Three inches more, and it was doubled. Three inches more, and Tom was assistant to the manager of his department. My salary had stood still, but I was not downcast; for I had acquired nearly one-third of a liberal education. How little I realized what lay ahead . . . years of disappointments and failures.

But now I knew, knew the worst. I turned to leave, and, turning, almost bumped into a late arrival. Murmuring an apology, I started on, but he checked me. "Come in, old man," he urged. "There's room for everyone. I think you can find a seat at the Faculty table."

"Faculty table?" I repeated blankly.

"Yes, over there with the letter-carriers," he explained, and I entered hesitantly, irresistibly drawn to the place, but almost afraid to stay.

I looked about and saw many familiar faces, heard snatches of old familiar stories. The conversation was general, but occasionally a voice would rise above the buzz of chatter.

"A dollar a minute, yessir, a dollar a minute," I heard . . . "Yes, we have two maids now" . . . "And the boss said, 'I've been watching you, young fellow,' and I want . . ." "The hours after supper did it." . . . "'Do you think you could swing Jim Perkins' job?" he asks me and I says, 'Sure, I been working with the I. C. S. evenings!" . . . "I bought Mary that dress she wanted, and I says, 'Take this, I'm making real money now.'"

There was much more, but it was cut short by the chairman, who tapped his, water glass authoritatively and arose. "Men of the I. C. S.," he announced in clarion tones, "I have the honor and privilege to tell you that our most distinguished alumnus, Mr. Addison Sims of Seattle, the merger king, has endowed our institution so generously that in the future all our courses will be conducted by special delivery."

The speaker could go no farther. A storm of applause swept the banquet hall. Someone proposed a "regular I. C. S. for Sims, fellows, and make it good." In the enthusiasm of the moment, I felt my resolution born anew. It was not too late! I would start now, and I would succeed! Some day I too would come home, put my dinner pall on the table, and say. "Little woman, don't worry about that new dress--I'm making real money now."