Chapter 1 Pg 1

When An American Sets Out To Found A College,  He Hunts First For A Hill.

John Harvard Was An Englishman And Indifferent To High Places. The

Result Is That Harvard Has Become A University Of Vast Proportions And

No Color. Yale Flounders About Among The New Haven Shops,  Trying To Rise

Above Them. The Harkness Memorial Tower Is Successful; Otherwise The

University Smells Of Trade. If Yale Had Been Built On A Hill,  It Would

Probably Be Far Less Important And Much More Interesting.

 

Hezekiah Sanford Was Wise; He Found First His Hill And Then Founded His

College,  Believing Probably That Any One Ambitious Enough To Climb The

Hill Was A Man Fit To Wrestle With Learning And,  If Need Be,  With Satan

Himself. Satan Was Ever Before Hezekiah,  And He Fought Him Valiantly,

Exorcising Him Every Morning In chapel And Every Evening At Prayers. The

First Students Of Sanford College Learned Latin And Greek And To Fear

Chapter 1 Pg 2

The Devil. There Are Some Who Declare That Their Successors Learn Less.

 

Hezekiah Built Sanford Hall,  A Fine Georgian Building,  Performed The

Duties Of Trustees,  President,  Dean,  And Faculty For Thirty Years,  And

Then Passed To His Reward,  Leaving Three Thousand Acres,  His Library Of

Five Hundred Books,  Mostly Sermons,  Sanford Hall,  And A Charter That

Opened The Gates Of Sanford To All Men So That They Might "Find The True

Light Of God And The Glory Of Jesus In The Halls Of This Most Liberal

College."

 

More Than A Century Had Passed Since Hezekiah Was Laid To Rest In

Haydensville'S Cemetery. The College Had Grown Miraculously And Changed

Even More Miraculously. Only The Hill And Its Beautiful Surroundings

Remained The Same. Indian Lake,  On The South Of The Campus,  Still

Sparkled In The Sunlight; On The East The Woods Were As Virgin As They

Had Been A Hundred And Fifty Years Before. Haydensville,  Still Only A

Village,  Surrounded The College On The West And North.

 

Hezekiah'S Successors Had Done Strange Things To His Campus. There Were

Dozens Of Buildings Now Surrounding Sanford Hall,  And They Revealed All

The Types Of Architecture Popular Since Hezekiah Had Thundered His Last

Defiance At Satan. There Were Fine Old Colonial Buildings,  Their Windows

Outlined By English Ivy; Ponderous Romanesque Buildings Made Of Stone,

Grotesque And Hideous; A Pseudo-Gothic Chapel With A Tower Of

Surpassing Loveliness; And Four Laboratories Of The Purest Factory

Design. But Despite The Conglomerate And Sometimes Absurd

Architecture--A Doric Temple Neighbored A Byzantine Mosque--The Campus

Was Beautiful. Lawns,  Often Terraced,  Stretched Everywhere,  And The

Great Elms Lent A Dignity To Sanford College That No Architect,  However

Stupid,  Could Quite Efface.

 

This First Day Of The New College Year Was Glorious In The Golden Haze

Of Indian Summer. The Lake Was Silver Blue,  The Long Reflections Of The

Trees Twisting And Bending As A Soft Breeze Ruffled The Surface Into

Tiny Waves. The Hills Already Brilliant With Color--Scarlet,  Burnt

Orange,  Mauve,  And Purple--Flamed Up To Meet The Clear Blue Sky; The

Elms Softly Rustled Their Drying Leaves; The White Houses Of The Village

Retreated Coyly Behind Maples And Firs And Elms: Everywhere There Was

Peace,  The Peace That Comes With Strength That Has Been Stronger Than

Time.

 

As Hugh Carver Hastened Up The Hill From The Station,  His Two Suit-Cases

Banged His Legs And Tripped Him. He Could Hardly Wait To Reach The

Campus. The Journey Had Been Intolerably Long--Haydensville Was More

Than Three Hundred Miles From Merrytown,  His Home--And He Was Wild To

Find His Room In Surrey Hall. He Wondered How He Would Like His

Room-Mate,  Peters.... What'S His Name? Oh,  Yes,  Carl.... The Registrar

Had Written That Peters Had Gone To Kane School.... Must Be Pretty Fine.

Ought To Be First-Class To Room With.... Hugh Hoped That Peters Wouldn'T

Think That He Was Too Country....

 

Hugh Was A Slender Lad Who Looked Considerably Less Than His Eighteen

Years. A Gray Cap Concealed His Sandy Brown Hair,  Which He Parted On The

Side And Which Curled Despite All His Brushing. His Crystalline Blue

Eyes,  His Small,  Neatly Carved Nose,  His Sensitive Mouth That Hid A Shy

And Appealing Smile,  Were All Very Boyish. He Seemed Young,  Almost

Chapter 1 Pg 3

Pathetically Young.

 

People Invariably Called Him A Nice Boy,  And He Didn'T Like It; In Fact,

He Wanted To Know How They Got That Way. They Gave Him The Pip,  That'S

What They Did. He Guessed That A Fellow Who Could Run The Hundred In 10:

2 And Out-Box Anybody In High School Wasn'T Such A Baby. Why,  He Had

Overheard One Of The Old Maid Teachers Call Him Sweet. Sweet! Cripes,

That Old Hen Made Him Sick. She Was Always Pawing Him And Sticking Her

Skinny Hands In His Hair. He Was Darn Glad To Get To College Where There

Were Only Men Teachers.

 

Women Always Wanted To Get Their Hands Into His Hair,  And Boys Liked Him

On Sight. Many Of Those Who Were Streaming Up The Hill Before And Behind

Him,  Who Passed Him Or Whom He Passed,  Glanced At His Eager Face And

Thought That There Was A Guy They'D Like To Know.

 

An Experienced Observer Would Have Divided Those Boys Into Three Groups:

Preparatory School Boys,  Carelessly At Ease,  Well Dressed,  Or,  As The

College Argot Has It,  "Smooth"; Boys From City Schools,  Not So Well

Dressed Perhaps,  Certainly Not So Sure Of Themselves; And Country Boys,

Many Of Them Miserably Confused And Some Of Them Clad In Kollege Kut

Klothes That They Would Shamefacedly Discard Within A Week.

 

Hugh Finally Reached The Top Of The Hill,  And The Campus Was Before Him.

He Had Visited The College Once With His Father And Knew His Way About.

Eager As He Was To Reach Surrey Hall,  He Paused To Admire The

Pseudo-Gothic Chapel. He Felt A Little Thrill Of Pride As He Stared In

Awe At The Magnificent Building. It Had Been Willed To The College By An

Alumnus Who Had Made Millions Selling Rotten Pork.

 

Hugh Skirted Two Of The Factory Laboratories,  Hurried Between The Doric

Temple And Byzantine Mosque,  Paused Five Times To Direct Confused

Classmates,  Passed A Dull Red Colonial Building,  And Finally Stood

Before Surrey Hall,  A Large Brick Dormitory Half Covered By Ivy.

 

He Hurried Up-Stairs And Down A Corridor Until He Found A Door With 19

On It. He Knocked.

 

"What Th' Hell! Come In." The Voice Was Impatiently Cheerful.

 

Hugh Pushed Open The Door And Entered The Room To Meet Wild

Confusion--And His Room-Mate. The Room Was A Clutter Of Suit-Cases,

Trunks,  Clothes,  Banners,  Unpacked Furniture,  Pillows,  Pictures,

Golf-Sticks,  Tennis-Rackets,  And Photographs--Dozens Of Photographs,  All

Of Them Of Girls Apparently. In The Middle Of The Room A Boy Was On His

Knees Before An Open Trunk. He Had Sleek Black Hair,  Parted Meticulously

In The Center,  A Slender Face With Rather Sharp Features And Large Black

Eyes That Almost Glittered. His Lips Were Full And Very Red,  Almost Too

Red,  And His Cheeks Seemed To Be Colored With A Hard Blush.

 

"Hullo," He Said In a Clear Voice As Hugh Came In. "Who Are You?"

 

Hugh Flushed Slightly. "I'M Carver," He Answered,  "Hugh Carver."

 

The Other Lad Jumped To His Feet,  Revealing,  To Hugh'S Surprise,  Golf

Knickers. He Was Tall,  Slender,  And Very Neatly Built.

 

Chapter 1 Pg 4

"Hell!" He Exclaimed. "I Ought To Have Guessed That." He Held Out His

Hand. "I'M Carl Peters,  The Guy You'Ve Got To Room With--And God Help

You."

 

Hugh Dropped His Suit-Cases And Shook Hands. "Guess I Can Stand It," He

Said With A Quick Laugh To Hide His Embarrassment. "Maybe You'Ll Need A

Little Of God'S Help Yourself." Diffident And Unsure,  He Smiled--And

Peters Liked Him On The Spot.

 

"Chase Yourself," Peters Said Easily. "I Know A Good Guy When I See One.

Sit Down Somewhere--Er,  Here." He Brushed A Pile Of Clothes Off A Trunk

To The Floor With One Sweep Of His Arm. "Rest Yourself After Climbing

That Goddamn Hill. Christ! It'S A Bastard,  That Hill Is. Say,  Your

Trunk'S Down-Stairs. I Saw It. I'Ll Help You Bring It Up Soon'S You'Ve

Got Your Wind."

 

Hugh Was Rather Dazzled By The Rapid,  Staccato Talk,  And,  To Tell The

Truth,  He Was A Little Shocked By The Profanity. Not That He Wasn'T Used

To Profanity; He Had Heard Plenty Of That In Merrytown,  But He Didn'T

Expect Somehow That A College Man--That Is,  A Prep-School Man--Would Use

It. He Felt That He Ought To Make Some Reply To Peters'S Talk,  But He

Didn'T Know Just What Would Do. Peters Saved Him The Trouble.

 

"I'Ll Tell You,  Carver--Oh,  Hell,  I'M Going To Call You Hugh--We'Re

Going To Have A Swell Joint Here. Quite The Darb. Three Rooms,  You Know;

A Bedroom For Each Of Us And This Big Study. I'Ve Brought Most Of The

Junk That I Had At Kane,  And I S'Pose You'Ve Got Some Of Your Own."

 

"Not Much," Hugh Replied,  Rather Ashamed Of What He Thought Might Be

Considered Stinginess. He Hastened To Explain That He Didn'T Know What

Carl Would Have; So He Thought That He Had Better Wait And Get His Stuff

At College.

 

"That'S The Bean," Exclaimed Carl,  He Had Perched Himself On The

Window-Seat. He Threw One Well Shaped Leg Over The Other And Gazed At

Hugh Admiringly. "You Certainly Used The Old Bean. Say,  I'Ve Got A Hell

Of A Lot Of Truck Here,  And If You'D A Brought Much,  We'D A Been

Swamped.... Say,  I'Ll Tell You How We Fix This Dump." He Jumped Up,  Led

Hugh On A Tour Of The Rooms,  Discussed The Disposal Of The Various

Pieces Of Furniture With Enormous Gusto,  And Finally Pointed To The

Photographs.

 

"Hope You Don'T Mind My Harem," He Said,  Making A Poor Attempt To Hide

His Pride.

 

"It'S Some Harem," Replied Hugh In Honest Awe.

 

Again He Felt Ashamed. He Had Pictures Of His Father And Mother,  And

That Was All. He'D Write To Helen For One Right Away. "Where'D You Get

All Of 'Em? You'Ve Certainly Got A Collection."

 

"Sure Have. The Album Of Hearts I'Ve Broken. When I'Ve Kissed A Girl

Twice I Make Her Give Me Her Picture. I'Ve Forgotten The Names Of Some

Of These Janes. I Collected Ten At Bar Harbor This Summer And Three At

Christmas Cove. Say,  This Kid--" He Fished Through A Pile Of

Pictures--"Was The Hottest Little Devil I Ever Met." He Passed To Hugh A

Cabinet Photograph Of A Standard Flapper. "Pet? My God!" He Cast His

Eyes Ceilingward Ecstatically.

Chapter 1 Pg 5

 

Hugh'S Mind Was A Battle-Field Of Disapproval And Envy. Carl Dazzled And

Confused Him. He Had Often Listened To The Recitals Of Their Exploits By

The Merrytown Don Juans,  But This Good-Looking,  Sophisticated Lad

Evidently Had A Technique And Breadth Of Experience Quite Unknown To

Merrytown. He Wanted Badly To Hear More,  But Time Was Flying And He

Hadn'T Even Begun To Unpack.

 

"Will You Help Me Bring Up My Trunk?" He Asked Half Shyly.

 

"Oh,  Hell,  Yes. I'D Forgotten All About That. Come On."

 

They Spent The Rest Of The Afternoon Unpacking,  Arranging And

Rearranging The Furniture And Pictures. They Foundher Adventure,  They Reach Mithila,  Where The

Hermit Presents Rama As A Candidate For The Bending Of The Bow.

 

  The King Beheld The Boy,  With Beauty Blest

    And Famous Lineage; He Sadly Thought

  How Hard It Was To Bend The Bow,  Distressed

    Because His Child Must Be So Dearly Bought.

 

  He Said: "O Holy One,  A Mighty Deed

    That Full-Grown Elephants With Greatest Pain

  Could Hardly Be Successful In,  We Need

    Not Ask Of Elephant-Cubs. It Would Be Vain.

 

  For Many Splendid Kings Of Valorous Name,

    Bearing The Scars Of Many A Hard-Fought Day,

  Have Tried And Failed; Then,  Covered With Their Shame,

    Have Shrugged Their Shoulders,  Cursed,  And Strode Away."

 

Yet When The Bow Is Given To The Youthful Rama,  He Not Only Bends,  But

Breaks It. He Is Immediately Rewarded With The Hand Of The Princess

Sita,  While Lakshmana Marries Her Sister. On Their Journey Home With

Their Young Brides,  Dreadful Portents Appear,  Followed By Their Cause,

A Strange Being Called Rama-With-The-Axe,  Who Is Carefully To Be

Distinguished From Prince Rama. This Rama-With-The-Axe Is A Brahman

Who Has Sworn To Exterminate The Entire Warrior Caste,  And Who

Naturally Attacks The Valorous Prince. He Makes Light Of Rama'S

Achievement In breaking Shiva'S Bow,  And Challenges Him To Bend The

Mightier Bow Which He Carries. This The Prince Succeeds In doing,  And

Rama-With-The-Axe Disappears,  Shamed And Defeated. The Marriage Party

Then Continues Its Journey To Ayodhya.

 

 

 

 

_Twelfth Canto. The Killing Of Ravana_.--King Dasharatha Prepares To

Anoint Rama Crown Prince,  When Queen Kaikeyi Interposes. On An Earlier

Occasion She Had Rendered The King A Service And Received His Promise

That He Would Grant Her Two Boons,  Whatever She Desired. She Now

Demands Her Two Boons: The Banishment Of Rama For Fourteen Years,  And

The Anointing Of Her Own Son Bharata As Crown Prince. Rama Thereupon

Sets Out For The Dandaka Forest In Southern India,  Accompanied By His

Faithful Wife Sita And His Devoted Brother Lakshmana. The Stricken

Father Dies Of Grief,  Thus Fulfilling The Hermit'S Curse. Now Prince

Bharata Proves Himself More Generous Than His Mother; He Refuses The

Chapter 1 Pg 6

Kingdom,  And Is With Great Difficulty Persuaded By Rama Himself To Act

As Regent During The Fourteen Years. Even So,  He Refuses To Enter The

Capital City,  Dwelling In a Village Outside The Walls,  And Preserving

Rama'S Slippers As A Symbol Of The Rightful King. Meanwhile Rama'S

Little Party Penetrates The Wild Forests Of The South,  Fighting As

Need Arises With The Giants There. Unfortunately,  A Giantess Falls In

Love With Rama,  And

 

  In Sita'S Very Presence Told

  Her Birth--Love Made Her Overbold:

  For Mighty Passion,  As A Rule,

  Will Change A Woman To A Fool.

 

Scorned By Rama,  Laughed At By Sita,  She Becomes Furious And

Threatening.

 

  Laugh On! Your Laughter'S Fruit Shall Be

  Commended To You. Gaze On Me!

  I Am A Tigress,  You Shall Know,

  Insulted By A Feeble Doe.

 

Lakshmana Thereupon Cuts Off Her Nose And Ears,  Rendering Her

Redundantly Hideous. She Departs,  To Return Presently At The Head Of

An Army Of Giants,  Whom Rama Defeats Single-Handed,  While His Brother

Guards Sita. The Giantess Then Betakes Herself To Her Brother,  The

Terrible Ten-Headed Ravana,  King Of Ceylon. He Succeeds In capturing

Sita By A Trick,  And Carries Her Off To His Fortress In ceylon. It Is

Plainly Necessary For Rama To Seek Allies Before Attempting To Cross

The Straits And Attack The Stronghold. He Therefore Renders An

Important Service To The Monkey King Sugriva,  Who Gratefully Leads An

Army Of Monkeys To His Assistance. The Most Valiant Of These,  Hanumat,

Succeeds In entering Ravana'S Capital,  Where He Finds Sita,  Gives Her

A Token From Rama,  And Receives A Token For Rama. The Army Thereupon

Sets Out And Comes To The Seashore,  Where It Is Reinforced By The

Giant Vibhishana,  Who Has Deserted His Wicked Brother Ravana. The

Monkeys Hurl Great Boulders Into The Strait,  Thus Forming A Bridge

Over Which They Cross Into Ceylon And Besiege ractical

Purposes,  He Attaches So Important And So Plain A Meaning.

 

Such Is Free-Will When Looked At From A Distance. But Let Us Look At It

More Closely,  And See What Happens Then. The Result Is Strange. Like A

Path Seen At Dusk Across A Moorland,  Plain And Visible From A Distance,

But Fading Gradually From Us The More Near We Draw To It,  So Does The

Belief In Free-Will Fade Before The Near Inspection Of Reason. It At

First Grows Hazy; At Last It Becomes Indistinguishable. At First We

Begin To Be Uncertain Of What We Mean By It; At Last We Find Ourselves

Certain That So Far As We Trust To Reason,  We Cannot Possibly Have Any

Meaning At All. Examined In This Way,  Every Act Of Our Lives--All Our

Choices And Refusals,  Seem Nothing But The Necessary Outcome Of Things

That Have Gone Before. It Is True That Between Some Actions The Choice

Hangs At Times So Evenly,  That Our _Will_ May Seem The One Thing That At

Last Turns The Balance. But Let Us Analyse The Matter A Little More

Carefully,  And We Shall See That There Are A Thousand Microscopic

Motives,  Too Small For Us To Be Entirely Conscious Of,  Which,  According

To How They Settle On Us,  Will Really Decide The Question. Nor Shall We

See Only That This Is So. Let Us Go A Little Further,  And Reason Will

Tell Us That It Must Be So. Were This Not The Case,  There Would Have

Chapter 1 Pg 7

Been An Escape Left For Us. Though Admitting That What Controlled Our

Actions Could Be Nothing But The Strongest Motive,  It Might Yet Be

Contended That The Will Could Intensify Any Motive It Chose,  And That

Thus Motives Really Were Only Tools In Its Hands. But This Does But

Postpone The Difficulty,  Not Solve It. What Is This Free-Will When It

Comes To Use Its Tools? It Is A Something,  We Shall Find,  That Our Minds

Cannot Give Harbour To. It Is A Thing Contrary To Every Analogy Of

Nature. It Is A Thing Which Is Forever Causing,  But Which Is In Itself

Uncaused.

 

To Escape From This Difficulty Is Altogether Hopeless. Age After Age Has

Tried To Do So,  But Tried In Vain. There Have Been Always Metaphysical

Experts Ready To Engage To Make Free-Will A Something Intellectually

Conceivable. But They All Either Leave The Question Where They Found

It,  Or Else They Only Seem To Explain It,  By Denying Covertly The Fact

That Really Wants Explaining.

 

Such Is Free-Will When Examined By The Natural Reason--A Thing That

Melts Away Inevitably First To Haze,  And Then To Utter Nothingness. And

For A Time We Feel Convinced That It Really Is Nothing. Let Us,  However,

Again Retire From It To The Common Distance,  And The Phantom We Thought

Exorcised Is Again Back In an Instant. There Is The Sphinx Once More,

Distinct And Clear As Ever,  Holding In Its Hand The Scales Of Good And

Evil,  And Demanding A Curse Or A Blessing For Every Human Action. We Are

Once More Certain--More Certain Of This Than Anything--That We Are,  As

We Always Thought We Were,  Free Agents,  Free To Choose,  And Free To

Refuse; And That In Virtue Of This Freedom,  And In Virtue Of This Alone,

We Are Responsible For What We Do And Are.

 

Let Us Consider This Point Well. Let Us Consider First How Free-Will Is

A Moral Necessity; Next How It Is An Intellectual Impossibility; And

Lastly How,  Though It Be Impossible,  We Yet,  In defiance Of Intellect,

Continue,  As Moral Beings,  To Believe In It. Let Us But Once Realise

That We Do This,  That All Mankind Universally Do This And Have Done--And

The Difficulties Offered Us By Theism Will No Longer Stagger Us. We

Shall Be Prepared For Them,  Prepared Not To Drive Them Away,  But To

Endure Their Presence. If In Spite Of My Reason I Can Believe That My

Will Is Free,  In Spite Of My Reason I Can Believe That God Is Good. The

Latter Belief Is Not Nearly So Hard As The Former. The Greatest

Stumbling-Block In The Moral World Lies In The Threshold By Which To

Enter It.

 

Such Then Are The Moral Difficulties,  Properly So Called,  That Beset

Theism; But There Are Certain Others Of A Vaguer Nature,  That We Must

Glance At Likewise. It Is Somewhat Hard Tter Take A B.S.," He Said Softly. "Very Well." Professor

Kane,  Who Hadn'T Yet Looked At Hugh,  Picked Up A Schedule Card. "Any

Middle Name?" He Asked Abruptly.

 

"Yes,  Sir--Meredith."

 

Kane Scribbled H.M. Carver At The Top Of The Card And Then Proceeded To

Fill It In Rapidly. He Hastily Explained The Symbols That He Was Using,

But He Did Not Say Anything About The Courses. When He Had Completed The

Schedule,  He Copied It On Another Card,  Handed One To Hugh,  And Stuck

The Other Into A Filing-Box.

 

Chapter 1 Pg 8

"Anything Else?" He Asked,  Turning His Blond,  Blank Face Toward Hugh For

The First Time.

 

Hugh Stood Up. There Were A Dozen Questions That He Wanted To Ask. "No,

Sir," He Replied. "Very Well,  Then. I Am Your Regular Adviser. You Will

Come To Me When You Need Assistance. Good Day."

 

"Good Day,  Sir," And As Hugh Passed Out Of The Door,  The Gruff Voice

Bawled,  "Next!" The Boy Nearest The Door Rose And Entered The Sanctum.

 

Hugh Sought The Open Air And Gazed At The Hieroglyphics On The Card.

"Guess They Mean Something," He Mused,  "But How Am I Going To Find Out?"

A Sudden Fear Made Him Blanch. "I Bet I Get Into The Wrong Places. Oh,

Golly!"

 

 

Then Came The Upper-Classmen,  Nearly Seven Hundred Of Them. The Quiet

Campus Became A Bedlam Of Excitement And Greetings. "Hi,  Jack. Didya

Have A Good Summer?"... "Well,  Tom,  Ol' Kid,  I Sure Am Glad To See You

Back."... "Put Her There,  Ol' Scout; It'S Sure Good To See You."

Everywhere The Same Greetings: "Didya Have A Good Summer? Glad To See

You Back." Every One Called Every One Else By His First Name; Every One

Shook Hands With Astonishing Vigor,  Usually Clutching The Other Fellow

By The Forearm At The Same Time. How Cockily These Lads Went Around The

Campus! No Confusion Or Fear For Them; They Knew What To Do.

 

For The First Time Hugh Felt A Pang Of Homesickness; For The First Time

He Realized That He Wasn'T Yet Part Of The College. He Clung Close To

Carl And One Or Two Other Lads In Surrey With Whom He Picked Up An

Acquaintance,  And Carl Clung Close To Hugh,  Careful To Hide The Fact

That He Felt Very Small And Meek. For The First Time _He_ Realized That

He Was Just A Freshman--And He Didn'T Like It.

 

Then Suddenly The Tension,  Which Had Been Gathering For A Day Or So,

Broke. Orders Went Out From The Upper-Classmen That All Freshmen Put On

Their Baby Bonnets,  Silly Little Blue Caps With A Bright Orange Button.

From That Moment Every Freshman Was Doomed. Work Was Their Lot,  And

Plenty Of It. "Hi,  Freshman,  Carry Up My Trunk. Yeah,  You,  Freshman--You

With The Skinny Legs. You And Your Fat Friend Carry My Trunk Up To The

Fourth Floor--And If You Drop It,  I'Ll Break Your Fool Necks."...

"Freshman! Go Down To The Station And Get My Suit-Cases. Here Are The

Checks. Hurry Back If You Know What'S Good For You."... "Freshman! Go

Up To Hill Twenty-Eight And Put The Beds Together."... "Freshman! Come

Up To My Room. I Want You To Hang Pictures."

 

Fortunately The Labor Did Not Last Long,  But While It Lasted Hugh Was

Hustled Around As He Never Had Been Before. And He Loved It. He Loved

His Blue Cap And Its Orange Button; He Loved The Upper-Classmen Who

Called Him Freshman And Ordered Him Around; He Loved The Very Trunks

That He Lugged So Painfully Up-Stairs. He Was Being Recognized,  Merely

As A Janitor,  It Is True,  But Recognized; At Last He Was A Part Of

Sanford College. Further,  One Of The Men Who Had Ordered Him Around The

Most Fiercely Wore A Nu Delta Pin,  The Emblem Of His Father'S

Fraternity. He Ran That Man'S Errands With Such Speed And Willingness

That The Hero Decided That The Freshman Was "Very,  Very Dumb."

 

Chapter 1 Pg 9

That Night Hugh And Carl Sat In 19 Surrey And Rested Their Aching Bones,

One On A Couch,  The Other In a Leather Morris Chair.

 

"Hot Stuff,  Wasn'T It?" Said Hugh,  Stretching Out Comfortably.

 

"Hot Stuff,  Hell! How Do They Get That Way?"

 

"Never Mind; We'Ll Do The Ordering Next Year."

 

"Right You Are," Said Carl Decisively,  Lighting A Cigarette,  "And Won'T

I Make The Little Frosh Walk." He Gazed Around The Room,  His Face

Beaming With Satisfaction. "Say,  We'Re Pretty Snappy Here,  Aren'T We?"

 

Hugh,  Too,  Looked Around Admiringly. The Walls Were Almost Hidden By

Banners,  A Huge Sanford Blanket--Hugh'S Greatest Contribution--Carl'S

Kane Blanket,  The Photographs Of The "Harem," Posters Of College

Athletes And Movie Bathing-Girls,  Pipe-Racks,  And Three Maxfield Parrish

Prints.

 

"It Certainly Is Fine," Said Hugh Proudly. "All We Need Is A Barber Pole

And A Street Sign."

 

"We'Ll Have 'Em Before The Week Is Out." This With Great Decision.

 

Chapter 2 Pg 10

 

Carl'S Adviser Had Been Less Efficient Than Hugh'S; Therefore He Knew

What His Courses Were,  Where The Classes Met And The Hours,  The Names Of

His Instructors,  And The Requirements Other Than Latin For A B.S.

Degree. Carl Said That He Was Taking A B.S. Because He Had Had A Year Of

Greek At Kane And Was Therefore Perfectly Competent To Make Full Use Of

The Language; He Could Read The Letters On The Front Doors Of The

Fraternity Houses.

 

The Boys Found That Their Courses Were The Same But That They Were In

Different Sections. Hugh Was In a Dilemma; He Could Make Nothing Out Of

His Card.

 

"Here," Said Carl,  "Give The Thing To Me. My Adviser Was A Good Scout

And Wised Me Up. This P.C. Isn'T Paper Cutting As You Might Suppose;

It'S Gym. You'Ll Get Out Of That By Signing Up For Track. P.C. Means

Physical Culture. Think Of That! You Can Sign Up For Track Any Time

To-Morrow Down At The Gym. And E I,  7 Means That You'Re In english I,

Section 7; And M Is Math. You Re In Section 3. Lat Means Latin,  Of

Course--Section 6. My Adviser--He Tried Pretty Hard To Be Funny--Said

That G.S. Wasn'T Glorious Salvation But General Science. That Meets In

The Big Lecture Hall In cranston. We All Go To That. And H I,  4 Means

That You Are In Section 4 Of History I. See? That'S All There Is To It.

Chapter 2 Pg 11

Now This Thing"--He Held Up A Printed Schedule--"Tells You Where The

Classes Meet."

 

With A Great Deal Of Labor,  Discussion,  And Profanity They Finally Got A

Schedule Made Out That Meant Something To Hugh. He Heaved A

Brobdingnagian Sigh Of Relief When They Finished.

 

"Well," He Exclaimed,  "That'S That! At Last I Know Where I'M Going. You

Certainly Saved My Life. I Know Where All The Buildings Are; So It Ought

To Be Easy."

 

"Sure," Said Carl Encouragingly; "It'S Easy. Now There'S Nothing To Do

Till To-Morrow Until Eight Forty-Five When We Attend Chapel To The Glory

Of The Lord. I Think I'Ll Pray To-Morrow; I May Need It. Christ! I Hate

To Study."

 

"Me,  Too," Hugh Lied. He Really Loved Books,  But Somehow He Couldn'T

Admit The Fact,  Which Had Suddenly Become Shameful,  To Carl. "Let'S Go

To The Movies," He Suggested,  Changing The Subject For Safety.

 

"Right-O!" Carl Put On His Freshman Cap And Flung Hugh'S To Him. "Gloria

Nielsen Is There,  And She'S A Pash Baby. Ought To Be A Good Fillum."

 

The Blue And Orange--It Was The Only Movie Theater In Town--Was Almost

Full When The Boys Arrived. Only A Few Seats Near The Front Were Still

Vacant. A Freshman Started Down The Aisle,  His "Baby Bonnet" Stuck

Jauntily On The Back Of His Head.

 

"Freshman!"... "Kill Him!"... "Murder The Frosh!" Shouts Came From All

Parts Of The House,  And An Instant Later Hundreds Of Peanuts Shot

Swiftly At The Startled Freshman. "Cap! Cap! Cap Off!" There Was A Panic

Of Excitement. Upper-Classmen Were Standing On Their Chairs To Get Free

Throwing Room. The Freshman Snatched Off His Cap,  Drew His Head Like A

Scared Turtle Down Into His Coat Collar,  And Ran For A Seat. Hugh And

Carl Tucked Their Caps Into Their Coat Pockets And Attempted To Stroll

Nonchalantly Down The Aisle. They Hadn'T Taken Three Steps Before The

Bombardment Began. Like Their Classmate,  They Ran For Safety.

 

Then Some One In The Front Of The Theatre Threw A Peanut At Some One In

The Rear. The Fight Was On! Yelling Like Madmen,  The Students Stood On

Their Chairs And Hurled Peanuts,  The Front And Rear Of The House

Automatically Dividing Into Enemy Camps. When The Fight Was At Its

Hottest,  Three Girls Entered.

 

"Wimmen! Wimmen!" As The Girls Walked Down The Aisle,  Infinitely Pleased

With Their Reception,  Five Hundred Men Stamped In Time With Their

Steps.

 

No Sooner Were The Girls Seated Than There Was A Scramble In One Corner,

An Excited Scuffling Of Feet. "I'Ve Got It!" A Boy Screamed. He Stood On

His Chair And Held Up A Live Mouse By Its Tail. There Was A Shout Of

Applause And Then--"Play Catch!"

 

The Boy Dropped The Writhing Mouse Into A Peanut Bag,  Screwed The Open

End Tight-Closed,  And Then Threw The Bag Far Across The Room. Another

Boy Caught It And Threw It,  This Time Over The Girls' Heads. They

Chapter 2 Pg 12

Screamed And Jumped Upon Their Chairs,  Holding Their Skirts,  And Dancing

Up And Down In assumed Terror. Back Over Their Heads,  Back And Over,

Again And Again The Bagged Mouse Was Thrown While The Girls Screamed And

The Boys Roared With Delight. Suddenly One Of The Girls Threw Up Her

Arm,  Caught The Bag Deftly,  Held It For A Second,  And Then Tossed It

Into The Rear Of The Theater.

 

Cheers Of Terrifying Violence Broke Loose: "Ray! Ray! Atta Girl! Hot

Dog! Ray,  Ray!" And Then The Lights Went Out.

 

"Moosick! Moosick! Moo-_Sick_!" The Audience Stamped And Roared,

Whistled And Howled. "Moosick! We Want Moosick!"

 

The Pianist,  An Undergraduate,  Calmly Strolled Down The Aisle.

 

"Get A Move On!"... "Earn Your Salary!"... "Give Us Moosick!"

 

The Pianist Paused To Thumb His Nose Casually At The Entire Audience,

And Then Amid Shouts And Hisses Sat Down At The Piano And Began To Play

"Love Nest."

 

Immediately The Boys Began To Whistle,  And As The Comedy Was Utterly

Stupid,  They Relieved Their Boredom By Whistling The Various Tunes That

The Pianist Played Until The Miserable Film Flickered Out.

 

Then The "Feature" And The Fun Began. During The Stretches Of Pure

Narrative,  The Boys Whistled,  But When There Was Any Real Action They

Talked. The Picture Was A Melodrama Of "Love And Hate," As The

Advertisement Said.

 

The Boys Told The Actors What To Do; They Revealed To Them The Secrets

Of The Plot. "She'S Hiding Behind The Door,  Harold. No,  No! Not That

Way. Hey,  Dumbbell--Behind The Door."... "Catch Him,  Gloria; He'S Only

Shy!"... "No,  That'S Not Him!"

 

The Climactic Fight Brought Shouts Of Encouragement--To The Villain.

"Kill Him!"... "Shoot One To His Kidneys!"... "Ahhhhh," As The Villain

Hit The Hero In The Stomach.... "Muss His Hair. Attaboy!"... "Kill The

Skunk!" And Finally Groans Of Despair When The Hero Won His Inevitable

Victory.

 

But It Was The Love Scenes That Aroused The Greatest Ardor And Joy. The

Hero Was Given Careful Instructions. "Some Neckin',  Harold!"... "Kiss

Her! Kiss Her! Ahhh!"... "Harold,  Harold,  You'Re Getting Rough!"...

"She'S Vamping You,  Harold!"... "Stop It; Gloria; He'S A Good Boy." And

So On Until The Picture Ended In The Usual Close-Up Of The Hero And

Heroine Silhouetted In a Tender Embrace Against The Setting Sun. The

Boys Breathed "Ahhhh" And "Ooooh" Ecstatically--And Laughed. The

Meretricious Melodrama Did Not Fool Them,  But They Delighted In Its

Absurdities.

 

The Lights Flashed On And The Crowd Filed Out,  "Wise-Cracking" About The

Picture And Commenting Favorably On The Heroine'S Figure. There Were

Shouts To This Fellow Or That Fellow To Come On Over And Play Bridge,

And Suggestions Here And There To Go To A Drug Store And Get A Drink.

 

Hugh And Carl Strolled Home Over The Dark Campus,  Both Of Them Radiant

Chapter 2 Pg 13

With Excitement,  Hugh Frankly So.

 

"Golly,  I Did Enjoy That," He Exclaimed. "I Never Had A Better Time. It

Was Sure Hot Stuff. I Don'T Want To Go To The Room; Let'S Walk For A

While."

 

"Yeah,  It Was Pretty Good," Carl Admitted. "Nope,  I Can'T Go Walking;

Gotta Write A Letter."

 

"Who To? The Harem?"

 

Carl Hunched His Shoulders Until His Ears Touched His Coat Collar.

"Gettin' Cold. Fall'S Here. Nope,  Not The Harem. My Old Lady."

 

Hugh Looked At Him Bewildered. He Was Finding Carl More And More A

Conundrum. He Consistently Called His Mother His Old Lady,  Insisted That

She Was A Damned Nuisance--And Wrote To Her Every Night. Hugh Was

Writing To His Mother Only Twice A Week. It Was Very Confusing....

Chapter 3 Pg 14

 

Capwell Chapel--It Bore The Pork Merchant'S Name As An Eternal Memorial

To Him--Was As Impressive Inside As Out. The Stained-Glass Windows Had

Been Made By A Famous New York Firm; The Altar Had Been Designed By An

Even More Famous Sculptor. The Walls,  Quite Improperly,  Were Adorned

With Paintings Of Former Presidents,  But The Largest Painting Of All--It

Was Fairly Gargantuan--Was Of The Pork Merchant,  A Large,  Ruddy

Gentleman,  Whom The Artist,  A Keen Observer,  Had Painted

Truly--Complacently Porcine,  Benevolently Smug.

 

The Seniors And Juniors Sat In The Nave,  The Sophomores On The Right

Side Of The Transept,  The Freshmen On The Left. Hugh Gazed Upward In awe

At The Dim Recesses Of The Vaulted Ceiling,  At The Ornately Carved Choir

Where Gowned Students Were Quietly Seating Themselves,  At The Colored

Light Streaming Through The Beautiful Windows,  At The Picture Of The

Pork Merchant. The Chapel Bells Ceased Tolling; Rich,  Solemn Tones

Swelled From The Organ.

 

President Culver In cap And Gown,  His Purple Hood Falling Over His

Shoulders,  Entered Followed By His Faculty,  Also Gowned And Hooded. The

Students Rose And Remained Standing Until The President And Faculty Were

Seated. The Organ Sounded A Final Chord,  And Then The College Chaplain

Rose And Prayed--Very Badly. He Implored The Lord To Look Kindly "On

These Young Men Who Have Come From Near And Far To Drink From This Great

Fount Of Learning,  This Well Of Wisdom."

 

The Prayer Over,  The President Addressed The Students. He Was A Large,

Erect Man With Iron-Gray Hair And A Rugged Intelligent Face. Although He

Was Sixty Years Old,  His Body Was Vigorous And Free From Extra Weight.

He Spoke Slowly And Impressively,  Choosing His Words With Care And

Chapter 3 Part 15

Enunciating Them With Great Distinctness. His Address Was For The

Freshmen: He Welcomed Them To Sanford College,  To Its Splendid

Traditions,  Its High Ideals,  Its Noble History. He Spoke Of The Famous

Men It Numbered Among Its Sons,  Of The Work They Had Done For America

And The World,  Of The Work He Hoped Future Sanford Men,  They,  The

Freshmen,  Would Some Day Do For America And The World. He Mentioned

Briefly The Boys From Sanford Who Had Died In The World War "To Make The

World Safe For Democracy," And He Prayed That Their Sacrifice Had Not

Been In Vain. Finally,  He Spoke Of The Chapel Service,  Which The

Students Were Required To Attend. He Hoped That They Would Find

Inspiration In It,  Knowledge And Strength. He Assured Them That The

Service Would Always Be Nonsectarian,  That There Would Never Be Anything

In It To Offend Any One Of Any Race,  Creed,  Or Religion. With A Last

Exhortation To The Freshmen To Make The Most Of Their Great

Opportunities,  He Ended With The Announcement That They Would Rise And

Sing The Sixty-Seventh Hymn.

 

Hugh Was Deeply Impressed By The Speech But Disturbed By The Students.

From Where He Sat He Got An Excellent View Of The Juniors And Seniors.

The Seniors,  Who Sat In The Front Of The Nave,  Seemed To Be Paying

Fairly Good Attention; But The Juniors--Many Of Them,  At Least--Paid No

Attention At All. Some Of Them Were Munching Apples,  Some Doughnuts,  And

Many Of Them Were Reading "The Sanford News," The College'S Daily Paper.

Some Of The Juniors Talked During The President'S Address,  And Once He

Noticed Four Of Them Doubled Up As If Overcome By Laughter. To Him The

Service Was A Beautiful And Impressive Occasion. He Could Not Understand

The Conduct Of The Upper-Classmen. It Seemed,  To Put It Mildly,

Irreverent.

 

Every One,  However,  Sang The Doxology With Great Vigor,  Some Of The Boys

Lifting Up A "Whisky" Tenor That Made The Chapel Ring,  And To Which Hugh

Happily Added His Own Clear Tenor. The Benediction Was Pronounced By The

Chaplain,  The Seniors Marched Out Slowly In Twos,  While The Other

Students And The Faculty Stood In Their Places; Then The President,

Followed By The Faculty,  Passed Out Of The Great Doors. When The Back Of

The Last Faculty Gown Had Disappeared,  The Under-Classmen Broke For The

Door,  Pushing Each Other Aside,  Swearing When A Toe Was Stepped On,

Yelling To Each Other,  Some Of Them Joyously Chanting The Doxology. Hugh

Was Caught In The Rush And Carried Along With The Mob,  Feeling Ashamed

And Distressed; This Was No Way To Leave A Church.

 

Once Outside,  However,  He Had No Time To Think Of The Chapel Service; He

Had Five Minutes In Which To Get To His First Class,  And The Building

Was Across The Campus,  A Good Two Minutes' Walk. He Patted His Cap To Be

Sure That It Was Firmly On The Back Of His Head,  Clutched His Note-Book,

And Ran As Hard As He Could Go,  The Strolling Upper-Classmen,  Whom He

Passed At Top Speed,  Grinning After Him In Tolerant Amusement.

 

Hugh Was The First One In The Class-Room And Wondered In a Moment Of

Panic If He Was In The Right Place. He Sat Down Dubiously And Looked At

His Watch. Four Minutes Left. He Would Wait Two,  And Then If Nobody Came

He Would--He Gasped; He Couldn'T Imagine What He Would Do. How Could He

Find The Right Class-Room? Maybe His Class Didn'T Come At This Hour At

All. Suppose He And Carl Had Made A Mistake. If They Had,  His Whole

Schedule Was Probably Wrong. "Oh,  Golly," He Thought,  Feeling Pitifully

Chapter 3 Part 16

Weak,  "Won'T That Be Hell? What Can I Do?"

 

At That Moment A Countrified-Looking Youth Entered,  Looking As Scared As

Hugh Felt. His Face Was Pale,  And His Voice Trembled As He Asked

Timidly,  "Do You Know If This Is Section Three Of Math One?"

 

Hugh Was Immediately Strengthened. "I Think So," He Replied. "Anyhow,

Let'S Wait And Find Out."

 

The Freshman Sighed In Huge Relief,  Took Out A Not Too Clean

Handkerchief,  And Mopped His Face. "Criminy!" He Exclaimed As He

Wriggled Down The Aisle To A Seat By Hugh,  "I Was Sure Worried. I

Thought I Was In The Wrong Building,  Though I Was Sure That My Adviser

Had Told Me Positively That Math Was In Matthew Six."

 

"I Guess We'Re All Right," Hugh Comforted Him As Two Other Freshmen,

Also Looking Dubious,  Entered. They Were Followed By Four More,  And Then

By A Stampeding Group,  All Of Them Pop-Eyed,  All Of Them In a Rush. In

The Next Minute Five Freshmen Dashed In and Then Dashed Out Again,

Utterly Bewildered,  Obviously Terrified,  And Not Knowing Where To Go Or

What To Do. "Is This Math One,  Section Three?" Every Man Demanded Of The

Room As He Entered; And Every One Yelled,  "Yes," Or,  "I Think So."

 

Just As The Bell Rang At Ten Minutes After The Hour,  The Instructor

Entered. It Was Professor Kane.

 

"This Is Mathematics One,  Section Three," Kane Announced In a Dry Voice.

"If There Is Any One Here Who Does Not Belong Here,  He Will Please

Leave." Nobody Moved; So He Shuffled Some Cards In His Hand And Asked

The Men To Answer To The Roll-Call.

 

"Adams,  J.H."

 

"Present,  Sir."

 

Kane Looked Up And Frowned. "Say 'Here,'" He Said Severely. "This Is Not

A Grammar-School."

 

"Yes,  Sir," Stuttered Adams,  His Face First White Then Purple. "Here,

Sir."

 

"'Here' Will Do; There Is No Need Of The 'Sir.' Allsop,  K.E."

 

"Here"--In A Very Faint Voice.

 

"Speak Up!"

 

"Here." This Time A Little Louder.

 

And So It Went,  Hardly A Man Escaping Without Some Admonishment. Hugh'S

Throat Went Dry; His Tongue Literally Stuck To The Roof Of His Mouth: He

Was Sure That He Wouldn'T Be Able To Say "Here" When It Came His Turn,

And He Could Feel His Heart Pounding In dreadful Anticipation.

 

"Carver,  H.M."

 

"Here!"

Chapter 3 Part 17

 

There! It Was Out! Or Had He Really Said It?

 

He Looked At The Professor In Terror,  But Kane Was Already Calling,

"Dana,  R.T." Hugh Sank Back In His Chair; He Was Trembling.

 

Kane Announced The Text-Book,  And When Hugh Caught The Word

"Trigonometry" He Actually Thrilled With Joy. He Had Had Trig In High

School. Whoops! Would He Hit Math I In The Eye? He'D Knock It For A

Goal.... Then Conscience Spoke. Oughtn'T He To Tell Kane That He Had

Already Had Trig? He Guessed Quite Rightly That Kane Had Not Understood

His High-School Credentials,  Which Had Given Him Credit For "Advanced

Mathematics." Kane Had Taken It For Granted That That Was Advanced

Algebra. Hugh Felt That He Ought To Explain The Mistake,  But Fear Of The

Arid,  Impersonal Man Restrained Him. Kane Had Told Him To Take Math I;

And Kane Was Law.

 

Unlike Most Of Hugh'S Instructors,  Kane Kept The Class The Full Hour The

First Day,  Seating Them In alphabetical Order--He Had To Repeat The

Performance Three Times During The Week As New Men Entered The

Class--Lecturing Them On The Need Of Doing Their Problems Carefully And

Accurately,  And Discoursing On The Value Of Mathematics,  Trigonometry In

Particular,  In The Study Of Science And Engineering. Hugh Was Not

Interested In Science,  Engineering,  Or Mathematics,  But He Listened

Carefully,  Trying Hard To Follow Kane'S Cold Discourse. At The End Of

The Hour He Told His Neighbor As They Left The Room That He Guessed That

Professor Kane Knew An Awful Lot,  And His Neighbor Agreed With Him.

 

Hugh'S Other Instructors Proved Less Impressive Than Kane; In Fact,  Mr.

Alling,  The Instructor In Latin,  Was Altogether Disconcerting.

 

"Plautus," He Told The Class,  "Wrote Comedies,  Farces--Not Exercises In

Translation. He Was Also,  My Innocents,  Occasionally Naughty--Oh,  Really

Naughty. What'S Worse,  He Used Slang,  Common Every-Day Slang--The Kind

Of Stuff That You And I Talk. Now,  I Have An Excellent Vocabulary Of

Slang,  Obscenity,  And Profanity; And You Are Going To Hear Most Of It.

Think Of The Opportunity. Don'T Think That I Mean Just 'Damn' And

'Hell.' They Are Good For A Laugh In a Theater Any Day,  But Plautus Was

Not Restrained By Our Modern Conventions. _You_ Will Confine Yourselves,

Please,  To English Undefiled,  But I Shall Speak The Modern Equivalent To

A Roman Gutter-Pup'S Language Whenever Necessary. You Will Find This

Course Very Illuminating--In Some Ways. And,  Who Knows? You May Learn

Something Not Only About Latin But About Rome."

 

Hugh Thought Mr. Alling Was Rather Flippant And Lacking In dignity.

Professor Kane Was More Like A College Teacher. Before The Term Was Out

He Hated Kane With An Intensity That Astonished Him,  And He Looked

Forward To His Latin Classes With An Eagerness Of Which He Was Almost

Ashamed. Plautus In The Alling Free And Colloquial Translations Was

Enormously Funny.

 

Professor Hartley,  Who Gave The History Lectures,  Talked In a Bass

Monotone And Never Seemed To Pause For Breath. His Words Came In a Slow

Steady Stream That Never Rose Nor Fell Nor Paused--Until The Bell Rang.

The Men In The Back Of The Room Slept. Hugh Was Seated Near The Front;

Chapter 3 Part 18

So He Drew Pictures In His Note-Book. The English Instructor Talked

About Punctuation As If It Were Very Unpleasant But Almost Religiously

Important; And What The Various Lecturers In General Science Talked

About--Ten Men Gave The Course--Hugh Never Knew. In after Years All That

He Could Remember About The Course Was That One Man Spoke Broken English

And That A Professor Of Physics Had Made Huge Bulbs Glow With Marvelous

Colors.

 

Hugh Had One Terrifying Experience Before He Finally Got Settled To His

Work. It Occurred The Second Day Of Classes. He Was Comfortably Seated

In What He Thought Was His English Class--He Had Come In Just As The

Bell Rang--When The Instructor Announced That It Was A Class In French.

What Was He To Do? What Would The Instructor Do If He Got Up And Left

The Room? What Would Happen If He Didn'T Report At His English Class?

What Would Happen To Him For Coming Into His English Class Late? These

Questions Staggered His Mind. He Was Afraid To Stay In The French Class.

Cautiously He Got Up And Began To Tiptoe To The Door.

 

"Wrong Room?" The Instructor Asked Pleasantly.

 

Hugh Flushed. "Yes,  Sir." He Stopped Dead Still,  Not Knowing What To Do

Next.

 

He Was A Typical Rattled Freshman,  And The Class,  Which Was Composed Of

Sophomores,  Laughed. Hugh,  Angry And Humiliated,  Started For The Door,

But The Instructor Held Up A Hand That Silenced The Class; Then He

Motioned For Hugh To Come To His Desk.

 

"What Class Are You Looking For?"

 

"English One,  Sir,  Section Seven." He Held Out His Schedule Card,

Reassured By The Instructor'S Kindly Manner.

 

The Instructor Looked At The Card And Then Consulted A Printed Schedule.

 

"Oh," He Said,  "Your Adviser Made A Mistake. He Got You Into The Wrong

Group List. You Belong In Sanders Six."

 

"Thank You,  Sir." Hugh Spoke So Softly That The Waiting Class Did Not

Hear Him,  But The Instructor Smiled At The Intensity Of His Thanks. As

He Left The Room,  He Knew That Every One Was Looking At Him; His Legs

Felt As If They Were Made Of Wood. It Wasn'T Until He Had Closed The

Door That His Knee-Joints Worked Naturally. But The Worst Was Still

Ahead Of Him. He Had To Go To His English Class In Sanders 6. He Ran

Across The Campus,  His Heart Beating Wildly,  His Hands Desperately

Clenched. When He Reached Sanders 6,  He Found Three Other Freshmen

Grouped Before The Door.

 

"Is This English One,  Section Seven?" One Asked Tremulously.

 

"I Think So," Whispered The Second. "Do You Know?" He Asked,  Turning To

Hugh.

 

"Yes; I Am Almost Sure."

 

They Stood There Looking At Each Other,  No One Quite Daring To Enter

Sanders 6,  No One Quite Daring To Leave. Suddenly The Front Door Of The

Building Slammed. A Bareheaded Youth Rushed Up The Stairs. He Was A

Chapter 3 Part 19

Repeater; That Is,  A Man Who Had Failed The Course The Preceding Year

And Was Taking It Over Again. He Brushed By The Scared Freshmen,  Opened

The Door,  And Strode Into Sanders 6,  Closing The Door Behind Him.

 

The Freshmen Looked At Each Other,  And Then The One Nearest The Door

Opened It. The Four Of Them Filed In Silently.

 

The Class Looked Up. "Sit In The Back Of The Room," Said The Instructor.

 

And That Was All There Was To That. In His Senior Year Hugh Remembered

The Incident And Wondered At His Terror. He Tried To Remember Why He Had

Been So Badly Frightened. He Couldn'T; There Didn'T Seem To Be Any

Reason At All.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4 Part 20

 

About A Week After The Opening Of College,  Hugh Returned To Surrey Hall

One Night Feeling Unusually Virtuous And Happy. He Had Worked

Religiously At The Library Until It Had Closed At Ten,  And He Had Been

In The Mood To Study. His Lessons For The Next Day Were All Prepared,

And Prepared Well. He Had Strolled Across The Moon-Lit Campus,  Buoyant

And Happy. Some One Was Playing The Organ In The Dark Chapel; He Paused

To Listen. Two Students Passed Him,  Humming Softly,

 

 

 

 

                "Sanford,  Sanford,  Mother Of Men,

                 Love Us,  Guard Us,  Hold Us True...."

 

 

 

 

The Dormitories Were Dim Masses Broken By Rectangles Of Soft Yellow

Light. Somewhere A Banjo Twanged. Another Student Passed.

 

"Hello,  Carver," He Said Pleasantly. "Nice Night."

 

"Oh,  Hello,  Jones. It Sure Is."

 

The Simple Greeting Completed His Happiness. He Felt That He Belonged,

That Sanford,  The "Mother Of Men," Had Taken Him To Her Heart. The Music

In The Chapel Swelled,  Lyric,  Passionate--Up! Up! Almost A Cry. The

Moonlight Was Golden Between The Heavy Shadows Of The Elms. Tears Came

Into The Boy'S Eyes; He Was Melancholy With Joy.

 

He Climbed The Stairs Of Surrey Slowly,  Reluctant To Reach His Room And

Carl'S Flippancy. He Passed An Open Door And Glanced At The Men Inside

The Room.

 

Chapter 4 Part 21

"Hi,  Hugh. Come In and Bull A While."

 

"Not To-Night,  Thanks." He Moved On Down The Hall,  Feeling A Vague

Resentment; His Mood Had Been Broken,  Shattered.

 

The Door Opposite His Own Room Was Slightly Open. A Freshman Lived

There,  Herbert Morse,  A Queer Chap With Whom Carl And Hugh Had Succeeded

In Scraping Up Only The Slightest Acquaintance. He Was A Big Fellow,

Fully Six Feet,  Husky And Quick. The Football Coach Said That He Had The

Makings Of A Great Half-Back,  But He Had Already Been Fired Off The

Squad Because Of His Irregularity In Reporting For Practice. Except For

What The Boys Called His Stand-Offishness--Some Of Them Said That He Was

Too Damned High-Hat--He Was Extremely Attractive. He Had Red,  Almost

Copper-Colored,  Hair,  And An Exquisite Skin,  As Delicate As A Child'S.

His Features Were Well Carved,  His Nose Slightly Aquiline--A Magnificent

Looking Fellow,  Almost Imperious; Or As Hugh Once Said To Carl,  "Morse

Looks Kinda Noble."

 

As Hugh Placed His Hand On The Door-Knob Of No 19,  He Heard Something

That Sounded Suspiciously Like A Sob From Across The Hall. He Paused And

Listened. He Was Sure That He Could Hear Some One Crying.

 

"Wonder What'S Wrong," He Thought,  Instantly Disturbed And Sympathetic.

 

He Crossed The Hall And Tapped Lightly On Morse'S Door. There Was No

Answer; Nor Was There Any When He Tapped A Second Time. For A Moment He

Was Abashed,  And Then He Pushed Open The Door And Entered Morse'S Room.

 

In The Far Corner Morse Was Sitting At His,  Desk,  His Head Buried In His

Arms,  His Shoulders Shaking. He Was Crying Fiercely,  Terribly; At Times

His Whole Body Jerked In The Violence Of His Sobbing.

 

Hugh Stood By The Door Embarrassed And Rather Frightened. Morse'S Grief

Brought A Lump To His Throat. He Had Never Seen Any One Cry Like That

Before. Something Had To Be Done. But What Could He Do? He Had No Right

To Intrude On Morse,  But He Couldn'T Let The Poor Fellow Go On Suffering

Like That. As He Stood There Hesitant,  Shaken,  Morse Buried His Head

Deeper In His Arms,  Moaned Convulsively,  Twisting And Trembling After A

Series Of Sobs That Seemed To Tear Themselves From Him. That Was Too

Much For Hugh. He Couldn'T Stand It. Some Force Outside Of Him Sent Him

Across The Room To Morse. He Put His Hand On A Quivering Shoulder And

Said Gently:

 

"What Is It,  Morse? What'S The Matter?"

 

Morse Ran His Hand Despairingly Through His Red Hair,  Shook His Head,

And Made No Answer.

 

"Come On,  Old Man; Buck Up." Hugh'S Voice Trembled; It Was Husky With

Sympathy. "Tell Me About It. Maybe I Can Help."

 

Then Morse Looked Up,  His Face Stained With Tears,  His Eyes Inflamed,

Almost Desperate. He Stared At Hugh Wonderingly. For An Instant He Was

Angry At The Intrusion,  But His Anger Passed At Once. He Could Not Miss

The Tenderness And Sympathy In Hugh'S Face; And The Boy'S Hand Was Still

Pressing With Friendly Insistence On His Shoulder. There Was Something

Chapter 4 Part 22

So Boyishly Frank,  So Clean And Honest About Hugh That His Irritation

Melted Into Confidence; And He Craved A Confidant Passionately.

 

"Shut The Door," He Said Dully,  And Reached Into His Trousers Pocket For

His Handkerchief. He Mopped His Face And Eyes Vigorously While Hugh Was

Closing The Door,  And Then Blew His Nose As If He Hated It. But The

Tears Continued To Come,  And All During His Talk With Hugh He Had To

Pause Occasionally To Dry His Eyes.

 

Hugh Stood Awkwardly In The Middle Of The Rug,  Not Knowing Whether To

Sit Down Or Not. Morse Was Clutching His Handkerchief In His Hand And

Staring At The Floor. Finally He Spoke Up.

 

"Sit Down," He Said In a Dead Voice,  "There."

 

Hugh Sank Into The Chair Morse Indicated And Then Gripped His Hands

Together. He Felt Weak And Frightened,  And Absolutely Unable To Say

Anything. But Morse Saved Him The Trouble.

 

"I Suppose You Think I Am An Awful Baby," He Began,  His Voice Thick With

Tears,  "But I Just Can'T Help It. I--I Just Can'T Help It. I Don'T Want

To Cry,  But I Do." And Then He Added Defiantly,  "Go Ahead And Think I'M

A Baby If You Want To."

 

"I Don'T Think You'Re A Baby," Hugh Said Softly; "I'M Just Sorry; That'S

All.... I Hope I Can Help." He Smiled Shyly,  Hopefully.

 

His Smile Conquered Morse. "You'Re A Good Kid,  Carver," He Cried

Impulsively. "A Darn Good Kid. I Like You,  And I'M Going To Tell You All

About It. And I--I--I Won'T Care If You Laugh."

 

"I Won'T Laugh," Hugh Promised,  Relieved To Think That There Was A

Possibility Of Laughing. The Trouble Couldn'T Be So Awfully Bad.

 

Morse Blew His Nose,  Stuck His Handkerchief Into His Pocket,  Pulled It

Out Again And Dabbed His Eyes,  Returned It To His Pocket,  And Suddenly

Stood Up.

 

"I'M Homesick!" He Blurred Out. "I'M--I'M Homesick,  Damned Homesick.

I'Ve Been Homesick Ever Since I Arrived. I--I Just Can'T Stand It."

 

For An Instant Hugh Did Have A Wild Desire To Laugh. Part Of The Desire

Was Caused By Nervous Relief,  But Part Of It Was Caused By What Seemed

To Him The Absurdity Of The Situation: A Big Fellow Like Morse

Blubbering,  Bawling For Home And Mother!

 

"You Can'T Know," Morse Went On,  "How Awful It Is--Awful! I Want To Cry

All The Time. I Can'T Listen In classes. A Prof Asked Me A Question

To-Day,  And I Didn'T Know What He Had Been Talking About. He Asked Me

What He Had Said. I Had To Say I Didn'T Know. The Whole Class Laughed,

And The Prof Asked Me Why I Had Come To College. God! I Nearly Died."

 

Hugh'S Sympathy Was All Captured Again. He Knew That He _Would_ Die If

He Ever Made A Fool Of Himself In The Class-Room.

 

"Gosh!" He Exclaimed. "What Did You Say?"

 

"Nothing. I Couldn'T Think Of Anything. For A Minute I Thought That My

Chapter 4 Part 23

Head Was Going To Bust. He Quit Razzing Me And I Tried To Pay Attention,

But I Couldn'T; All I Could Do Was Think Of Home. Lord! I Wish I Was

There!" He Mopped At His Eyes And Paced Up And Down The Room Nervously.

 

"Oh,  You'Ll Get Over That," Hugh Said Comfortingly. "Pretty Soon You'Ll

Get To Know Lots Of Fellows,  And Then You Won'T Mind About Home."

 

"That'S What I Keep Telling Myself,  But It Don'T Work. I Can'T Eat Or

Sleep. I Can'T Study. I Can'T Do Anything. I Tell You I'Ve Got To Go

Home. I'Ve _Got_ To!" This Last With Desperate Emphasis.

 

Hugh Smiled. "You'Re All Wrong," He Asserted Positively. "You'Re Just

Lonely; That'S All. I Bet That You'Ll Be Crazy About College In a

Month--Same As The Rest Of Us. When You Feel Blue,  Come In and See

Peters And Me. We'Ll Make You Grin; Peters Will,  Anyway. You Can'T Be

Blue Around Him."

 

Morse Sat Down. "You Don'T Understand. I'M Not Lonely. It Isn'T That. I

Could Talk To Fellows All Day Long If I Wanted To. I Don'T Want To Talk

To 'Em. I Can'T. There'S Just One Person That I Want To Talk To,  And

That'S My Mother." He Shot The Word "Mother" Out Defiantly And Glared At

Hugh,  Silently Daring Him To Laugh,  Which Hugh Had Sense Enough Not To

Do,  Although He Wanted To Strongly. The Great Big Baby,  Wanting His

Mother! Why,  He Wanted His Mother,  Too,  But He Didn'T Cry About It.

 

"That'S All Right," He Said Reassuringly; "You'Ll See Her Christmas

Vacation,  And That Isn'T Very Long Off."

 

"I Want To See Her Now!" Morse Jumped To His Feet And Raised His

Clenched Hands Above His Head. "Now!" He Roared. "Now! I'Ve Got To. I'M

Going Home On The Midnight." He Whirled About To His Desk And Began To

Pull Open The Drawers,  Piling Their Contents On The Top.

 

"Here!" Hugh Rushed To Him And Clutched His Arms. "Don'T Do That." Morse

Struggled,  Angry At The Restraining Hands,  Ready To Strike Them Off.

Hugh Had A Flash Of Inspiration. "Think How Disappointed Your Mother

Will Be," He Cried,  Hanging On To Morse'S Arms; "Think Of Her."

 

Morse Ceased Struggling. "She Will Be Disappointed," He Admitted

Miserably. "What Can I Do?" There Was A World Of Despair In His

Question.

 

Hugh Pushed Him Into The Desk-Chair And Seated Himself On The Edge Of

The Desk. "I'Ll Tell You," He Said. He Talked For Half An Hour,  Cheering

Morse,  Assuring Him That His Homesickness Would Pass Away,  Offering To

Study With Him. At First Morse Paid Little Attention,  But Finally He

Quit Sniffing And Looked Up,  Real Interest In His Face. When Hugh Got A

Weak Smile Out Of Him,  He Felt That His Work Had Been Done. He Jumped

Off The Desk,  Leaned Over To Slap Morse On The Back,  And Told Him That

He Was A Good Egg But A Damn Fool.

 

Morse Grinned. "You'Re A Good Egg Yourself," He Said Gratefully. "You'Ve

Saved My Life."

 

Hugh Was Pleased And Blushed. "You'Re Full Of Bull.... Remember,  We Do

Latin At Ten To-Morrow." He Opened The Door. "Good Night."

 

"Good Night." And Hugh Heard As He Closed The Door. "Thanks A Lot."

Chapter 4 Pg 24

 

When He Opened His Own Door,  He Found Carl Sitting Before A Blazing Log

Fire. There Was No Other Light In The Room. Carl Had Written His Nightly

Letter To The "Old Lady," And He Was A Little Homesick Himself--Softened

Into A Tender And Pensive Mood. He Did Not Move As Hugh Sat Down In a

Big Chair On The Other Side Of The Hearth And Said God,  Feeling His Love,  And Content

That Others Should Feel It. On The Other Hand,  See This Pure And Free

Communion,  Distracted And Interrupted By A Thousand Tortuous Reasonings

As To The Exact Nature Of It. What Can Obscure Intellectual

Propositions,_' It Is Asked,  '_Have To Do With A Religion Of The Heart?

And Do Not They Check The Latter By Being Thus Bound Up With It?_' But

What Really Can Be More Misleading Than This? Natural Religion Is

Doubtless Simpler In One Sense Than Revealed Religion; But It Is Only

Simple Because It Has No Authoritative Science Of Itself. It Is Simple

For The Same Reason That A Boy'S Account Of Having Given Himself A

Headache Is Simpler Than A Physician'S Would Be. The Boy Says Merely,

'_I Ate Ten Tarts,  And Drank Three Bottles Of Ginger-Beer._' The

Physician,  Were He To Explain The Catastrophe,  Would Describe A Number

Of Far More Complex Processes. The Boy'S Account Would Be Of Course The

Simplest,  And Would Certainly Go More Home To The General Heart Of

Boyhood; But It Would Not For That Reason Be The Correctest Or The Most

Important. And Just Like This Will Be The Case Of The Divine Communion,

Which The Simple Saint May Feel,  And The Subtle Theologian Analyse.

 

But It Will Be Well To Observe,  Further,  That The Simplicity Of A

Religion Can Of Itself Be No Test Of The Probable Truth Of It. And In

The Case Of Natural Religion,  What Is Called Simplicity Is In General

Nothing More Than Vagueness. If _Simplicity_ Used In This Way Be A Term

Of Praise,  We Might Praise A Landscape As Simple Because It Was

Half-Drowned In Mist. As A Matter Of Fact,  However,  The Religion Of The

Catholic Church,  Putting Out Of The Question Its Theology,  Is A Thing

Far Simpler Than The Outside World Supposes; Nor Is There A Doctrine In

It Without A Direct Moral Meaning For Us,  And Not Tending To Have A

Direct Effect On The Character.

 

But The Outside World Misjudges Of All This For Various Reasons. In The

First Place,  It Can Reach It As A Rule Through Explanations Only; And

The Explanation Or The Account Of Anything Is Always Far More Intricate

Than The Apprehension Of The Thing Itself. Take,  For Instance,  The

Practice Of The Invocation Of Saints. This Seems To Many To Complicate

The Whole Relation Of The Soul To God,  To Be Introducing A Number Of New

And Unnecessary Go-Betweens,  And To Make Us,  As It Were,  Communicate

With God Through A Dragoman. But The Case Really Is Very Different. Of

Course It May Be Contended That Intercessory Prayer,  Or That Prayer Of

Any Kind,  Is An Absurdity; But For Those Who Do Not Think This,  There

Can Be Nothing To Object To In The Invocation Of Saints. It Is Admitted

By Such Men That We Are Not Wrong In asking The Living To Pray For Us.

Surely,  Therefore,  It Is Not Wrong To Make A Like Request Of The Dead.

In The Same Way,  To Those Who Believe In Purgatory,  To Pray For The Dead

Is As Natural And As Rational As To Pray For The Living. Next,  As To

This Doctrine Of Purgatory Itself--Which Has So Long Been A

Stumbling-Block To The Whole Protestant World--Time Goes On,  And The

View Men Take Of It Is Changing. It Is Becoming Fast Recognized On All

Sides That It Is The Only Doctrine That Can Bring A Belief In Future

Rewards And Punishments Into Anything Like Accordance With Our Notions

Of What Is Just Or Reasonable. So Far From Its Being A Superfluous

Chapter 4 Pg 25

Superstition,  It Is Seen To Be Just What Is Demanded At Once By Reason

And Morality; And A Belief In It To Be Not An Intellectual Assent Only,

But A Partial Harmonising Of The Whole Moral Ideal. And The Whole

Catholic _Religion_,  If We Only Distinguish And Apprehend It Rightly,

Will Present Itself To Us In The Same Light.

 

But There Are Other Reasons Besides Those Just Described,  By Which

Outsiders Are Hindered From Arriving At Such A Right View Of The

Matter. Not Only Does The Intricacy Of Catholicism _Described_,  Blind

Them To The Simplicity Of Catholicism _Experienced_,  But They Confuse

With The Points Of Faith,  Not Only The Scientific Accounts The

Theologians Give ostly To Williams,  But Some Of 'Em Go To Yale Or Princeton.

 

"Well,  I Had Four Years Of That,  And I Was Homesick The Whole Four

Years. Oh,  I Don'T Mean That They Kept After Me All The Time--That Was

Just The First Few Months--But They Never Really Accepted Me. I Never

Felt At Home. Even When I Was With A Bunch Of Them,  I Felt Lonesome....

And They Never Made A Gentleman Out Of Me,  Though My Old Lady Thinks

They Did."

 

"You'Re Crazy," Hugh Interrupted Indignantly. "You'Re As Much A

Gentleman As Anybody In college."

 

Carl Smiled And Shook His Head. "No,  You Don'T Understand. You'Re A

Gentleman,  But I'M Not. Oh,  I Know All The Tricks,  The Parlor Stunts.

Four Years At Kane Taught Me Those,  But They'Re Just Tricks To Me. I

Don'T Know Just How To Explain It--But I Know That You'Re A Gentleman

And I'M Not."

 

"You'Re Just Plain Bug-House. You Make Me Feel Like A Fish. Why,  I'M

Just From A Country High School. I'M Not In Your Class." Hugh Sat Up

And Leaned Eagerly Toward Carl,  Gesticulating Excitedly.

 

"As If That Made Any Difference," Carl Replied,  His Voice Sharp With

Scorn. "You See,  I'M A Bad Egg. I Drink And Gamble And Pet. I Haven'T

Gone The Limit Yet On--On Account Of My Old Lady--But I Will."

 

Hugh Was Relieved. He Had Wondered More Than Once During The Past Week

"Just How Far Carl Had Gone." Several Times Carl Had Suggested By Sly

Innuendos That There Wasn'T Anything That He Hadn'T Done,  And Hugh Had

Felt A Slight Disapproval--And Considerable Envy. His Own Standards Were

Very High,  Very Strict,  But He Was Ashamed To Reveal Them.

 

"I'Ve Never Gone The Limit Either," He Confessed Shyly.

 

Carl Threw Back His Head And Laughed. "You Poor Fish; Don'T You Suppose

I Know That?" He Exclaimed.

 

"How Did You Know?" Hugh Demanded Indignantly. "I Might'Ve. Why,  I Was

Out With A Girl Just Before I Left Home And--"

 

"You Kissed Her," Carl Concluded For Him. "I Don'T Know How I Knew,  But

I Did. You'Re Just Kinda Pure; That'S All. I'M Not Pure At All; I'M Just

A Little Afraid--And I Keep Thinkin' Of My Old Lady. I'Ve Started To

Several Times,  But I'Ve Always Thought Of Her And Quit."

 

He Sat Silent For A Minute Or Two And Then Continued More Gently. "My

Chapter 4 Pg 26

Old Lady Never Came To Kane. She Never Will Come Here,  Either. She Wants

To Give Me A Real Chance. See? She Knows She Isn'T A Lady--But--But,  Oh,

God,  Hugh,  She'S White,  White As Hell. I Guess I Think More Of Her Than

All The Rest Of The World Put Together. That'S Why I Write To Her Every

Night. She Writes To Me Every Day,  Too. The Letters Have Mistakes In

Them,  But--But They Keep Me Straight. That Is,  They Have So Far. I Know,

Though,  That Some Night I'Ll Be Out With A Bag And Get Too Much Liquor

In Me--And Then Good-By,  Virginity."

 

"You'Re Crazy,  Carl. You Know You Won'T." Carl Rose From The Chair And

Stretched Hugely. "You'Re A Good Egg,  Hugh," He Said In The Midst Of A

Yawn,  "But You'Re A Damn Fool."

 

Hugh Started. That Was Just What He Had Said To Morse.

 

      

He Never Caught Carl In a Confidential Mood Again. The Next Morning He

Was His Old Flippant Self,  Swearing Because He Had To Study His Latin,

Which Wasn'T "Of Any Damned Use To Anybody."

 

In The Following Weeks Hugh Religiously Clung To Morse,  Helped Him With

His Work,  Went To The Movies With Him,  Inveigled Him Into Going On

Several Long Walks. Morse Was More Cheerful And Almost Pathetically

Grateful. One Day,  However,  Hugh Found An Unstamped Letter On The

Floor. He Opened It Wonderingly.

 

 

 

 

       Dear Hugh [He Read]. You'Ve Been Awfully Good To Me But

       I Can'T Stand It. I'M Going Home To-Day. Give My Regards

       To Peters. Thanks For All You'Ve Done For Me.

 

                                                Bert Morse.

Chapter 5 Pg 27

 

For A Moment After Reading Morse'S Letter Hugh Was Genuinely Sorry,  But

Almost Immediately He Felt Irritated And Hurt.

 

He Handed The Letter To Carl,  Who Entered Just As He Finished Reading

It,  And Exploded: "The Simp! And After I Wasted So Much Time On Him."een Gods And Demons_.--This Canto Is

Entirely Taken Up With The Struggle Between The Two Armies. A Few

Stanzas Are Given Here.

Chapter 5 Pg 28

 

  As Pairs Of Champions Stood Forth

  To Test Each Other'S Fighting Worth,

  The Bards Who Knew The Family Fame

  Proclaimed Aloud Each Mighty Name.

 

  As Ruthless Weapons Cut Their Way

  Through Quilted Armour In The Fray,

  White Tufts Of Cotton Flew On High

  Like Hoary Hairs Upon The Sky.

 

  Blood-Dripping Swords Reflected Bright

  The Sunbeams In That Awful Fight;

  Fire-Darting Like The Lightning-Flash,

  They Showed How Mighty Heroes Clash.

 

  The Archers' Arrows Flew So Fast,

  As Through A Hostile Breast They Passed,

  That They Were Buried In The Ground,

  No Stain Of Blood Upon Them Found.

 

  The Swords That Sheaths No Longer Clasped,

  That Hands Of Heroes Firmly Grasped,

  Flashed Out In Glory Through The Fight,

  As If They Laughed In Mad Delight.

 

  And Many A Warrior'S Eager Lance

  Shone Radiant In The Eerie Dance,

  A Curling,  Lapping Tongue Of Death

  To Lick Away The Soldier'S Breath.

 

  Some,  Panting With A Bloody Thirst,

  Fought Toward The Victim Chosen First,

  But Had A Reeking Path To Hew

  Before They Had Him Full In View.

 

  Great Elephants,  Their Drivers Gone

  And Pierced With Arrows,  Struggled On,

  But Sank At Every Step In Mud

  Made Liquid By The Streams Of Blood.

 

  The Warriors Falling In The Fray,

  Whose Heads The Sword Had Lopped Away,

  Were Able Still To Fetch A Blow

  That Slew The Loud-Exulting Foe.

 

  The Footmen Thrown To Paradise

  By Elephants Of Monstrous Size,

  Were Seized Upon By Nymphs Above,

  Exchanging Battle-Scenes For Love.

 

  The Lancer,  Charging At His Foe,

  Would Pierce Him Through And Bring Him Low,

  And Would Not Heed The Hostile Dart

  That Found A Lodgment In His Heart.

 

  The War-Horse,  Though Unguided,  Stopped

  The Moment That His Rider Dropped,

Chapter 5 Pg 29

  And Wept Above The Lifeless Head,

  Still Faithful To His Master Dead.

 

  Two Lancers Fell With Mortal Wound

  And Still They Struggled On The Ground;

  With Bristling Hair,  With Brandished Knife,

  Each Strove To End The Other'S Life.

 

  Two Slew Each Other In The Fight;

  To Paradise They Took Their Flight;

  There With A Nymph They Fell In Love,

  And Still They Fought In Heaven Above.

 

  Two Souls There Were That Reached The Sky;

  From Heights Of Heaven They Could Spy

  Two Writhing Corpses On The Plain,

  And Knew Their Headless Forms Again.

 

As The Struggle Comes To No Decisive Issue,  Taraka Seeks Out The Chief

Gods,  And Charges Upon Them.

 

_Seventeenth Canto. Taraka Is Slain_.--Taraka Engages The Principal

Gods And Defeats Them With Magic Weapons. When They Are Relieved By

Kumara,  The Demon Turns To The Youthful God Of War,  And Advises Him To

Retire From The Battle.

 

  Stripling,  You Are The Only Son

    Of Shiva And Of Parvati.

  Go Safe And Live! Why Should You Run

    On Certain Death? Why Fight With Me?

  Withdraw! Let Sire And Mother Blest

  Clasp Living Son To Joyful Breast.

 

  Flee,  Son Of Shiva,  Flee The Host

    Of Indra Drowning In The Sea

  That Soon Shall Close Upon His Boast

    In choking Waves Of Misery.

  For Indra Is A Ship Of Stone;

  Withdraw,  And Let Him Sink Alone.

 

Kumara Answers With Modest Firmness.

 

  The Words You Utter In Your Pride,

    O Demon-Prince,  Are Only Fit;

  Yet I Am Minded To Abide

    The Fight,  And See The End Of It.

  The Tight-Strung Bow And Brandished Sword

  Decide,  And Not The Spoken Word.

 

And With This The Duel Begins. When Taraka Finds His Arrows Parried By

Kumara,  He Employs The Magic Weapon Of The God Of Wind. When This Too

Is Parried,  He Uses The Magic Weapon Of The God Of Fire,  Which Kumara

Neutralises With The Weapon Of The God Of Water. As They Fight On,

Kumara Finds An Opening,  And Slays Taraka With His Lance,  To The

Unbounded Delight Of The Universe.

 

Here The Poem Ends,  In The Form In Which It Has Come Down To Us. It

Has Been Sometimes Thought That We Have Less Than Kalidasa Wrote,

Chapter 5 Pg 30

Partly Because Of A Vague Tradition That There Were Once Twenty-Three

Cantos,  Partly Because The Customary Prayer Is Lacking At The End.

These Arguments Are Not Very Cogent. Though The Concluding Prayer Is

Not Given In Form,  Yet The Stanzas Which Describe The Joy Of The

Universe Fairly Fill Its Place. And One Does Not See With What Matter

Further Cantos Would Be Concerned. The Action Promised In The Earlier

Part Is Completed In The Seventeenth Canto.

 

It Has Been Somewhat More Formidably Argued That The Concluding Cantos

Are Spurious,  That Kalidasa Wrote Only The First Seven Or Perhaps The

First Eight Cantos. Yet,  After All,  What Do These Arguments Amount To?

Hardly More Than This,  That The First Eight Cantos Are Better Poetry

Than The Last Nine. As If A Poet Were Always At His Best,  Even When

Writing On A Kind Of Subject Not Calculated To Call Out His Best.

Fighting Is Not Kalidasa'S _Forte_; Love Is. Even So,  There Is Great

Vigour In The Journey Of Taraka,  The Battle,  And The Duel. It May Not

Be The Highest Kind Of Poetry,  But It Is Wonderfully Vigorous Poetry

Of Its Kind. And If We Reject The Last Nine Cantos,  We Fall Into A

Very Much Greater Difficulty. The Poem Would Be Glaringly Incomplete,

Its Early Promise Obviously Disregarded. We Should Have A _Birth Of

The War-God_ In Which The Poet Stopped Before The War-God Was Born.

 

There Seems Then No Good Reason To Doubt That We Have The Epic

Substantially As Kalidasa Wrote It. Plainly,  It Has A Unity Which Is

Lacking In Kalidasa'S Other Epic,  _The Dynasty_ _Of Raghu_,  Though In

This Epic,  Too,  The Interest Shifts. Parvati'S Love-Affair Is The

Matter Of The First Half,  Kumara'S Fight With The Demon The Matter Of

The Second Half. Further,  It Must Be Admitted That The Interest Runs A

Little Thin. Even In India,  Where The World Of Gods Runs Insensibly

Into The World Of Men,  Human Beings Take More Interest In The

Adventures Of Men Than Of Gods. The Gods,  Indeed,  Can Hardly Have

Adventures; They Must Be Victorious. _The Birth Of The War-God_ Pays

For Its Greater Unity By A Poverty Of Adventure.

 

It Would Be Interesting If We Could Know Whether This Epic Was Written

Before Or After _The Dynasty Of Raghu_. But We Have No Data For

Deciding The Question,  Hardly Any For Even Arguing It. The

Introduction To _The Dynasty Of Raghu_ Seems,  Indeed,  To Have Been

Written By A Poet Who Yet Had His Spurs To Win. But This Is All.

 

As To The Comparative Excellence Of The Two Epics,  Opinions Differ. My

Own Preference Is For _The Dynasty Of Raghu_,  Yet There Are Passages

In _The Birth Of The War-God_ Of A Piercing Beauty Which The World Can

Never Let Die.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Cloud-Messenger

 

 

 

 

In _The Cloud-Messenger_ Kalidasa Created A New _Genre_ In Sanskrit

Chapter 5 Part 31

Literature. Hindu Critics Class The Poem With _The Dynasty Of Raghu_

And _The Birth Of The War-God_ As A _Kavya_,  Or Learned Epic. This It

Obviously Is Not. It Is Fair Enough To Call It An Elegiac Poem,  Though

A Precisian Might Object To The Term.

 

We Have Already Seen,  In Speaking Of _The Dynasty Of Raghu_,  What

Admiration Kalidasa Felt For His Great Predecessor Valmiki,  The Author

Of The _Ramayana_; And It Is Quite Possible That An Episode Of The

Early Epic Suggested To Him The Idea Which He Has Exquisitely Treated

In _The Cloud-Messenger_. In The _Ramayana_,  After The Defeat And

Death Of Ravana,  Rama Returns With His Wife And Certain Heroes Of The

Struggle From Ceylon To His Home In Northern India. The Journey,  Made

In An Aerial Car,  Gives The Author An Opportunity To Describe The

Country Over Which The Car Must Pass In Travelling From One End Of

India To The Other. The Hint Thus Given Him Was Taken By Kalidasa; A

Whole Canto Of _The Dynasty Of Raghu_ (The Thirteenth) Is Concerned

With The Aerial Journey. Now If,  As Seems Not Improbable,  _The Dynasty

Of Raghu_ Was The Earliest Of Kalidasa'S More Ambitious Works,  It Is

Perhaps Legitimate To Imagine Him,  As He Wrote This Canto,  Suddenly

Inspired With The Plan Of _The Cloud-Messenger_.

 

Thilong In His

Fifties,  With A Wife Twelve Years His Junior. He Pretended To Cultivate

His Small Farm In Merrytown,  But As A Matter Of Fact He Lived Off Of A

Comfortable Income Left Him By His Very Capable Father. He Spent Most Of

His Time Reading The Eighteenth-Century Essayists,  John Donne'S Poetry,

The "Atlantic Monthly," The "Boston Transcript," And Playing Mozart On

His Violin. He Did Not Understand His Wife And Was Thoroughly Afraid Of

His Son; Hugh Had An Animal Vigor That At Times Almost Terrified Him.

 

At His Wife'S Insistence He Had A Talk With Hugh The Night Before The

Boy Left For College. Hugh Had Wanted To Run When He Met His Father In

The Library After Dinner For That Talk. He Loved The Gentle,  Gray-Haired

Man With The Fine,  Delicate Features And Soft Voice. He Had Often Wished

That He Knew His Father. Mr. Carver Was Equally Eager To Know Hugh,  But

He Had No Idea Of How To Go About Getting Acquainted With His Son.

 

They Sat On Opposite Sides Of The Fireplace,  And Mr. Carver Gazed

Thoughtfully At The Boy. Why Hadn'T Betty Had This Talk With Hugh? She

Knew Him So Much Better Than He Did; They Were More Like Brother And

Sister Than Mother And Son. Why,  Hugh Called Her Betty Half The Time,

And She Seemed To Understand Him Perfectly.

 

Hugh Waited Silently. Mr. Carver Ran A Thin Hand Through His Hair And

Then Sharply Desisted; He Mustn'T Let The Boy Know That He Was Nervous.

Then He Settled His Horn-Rimmed Pince-Nez More Firmly On His Nose And

Felt In His Waistcoat For A Cigar. Why Didn'T Hugh Say Something? He

Snipped The End Of The Cigar With A Silver Knife. Slowly He Lighted The

Cigar,  Inhaled Once Or Twice,  Coughed Mildly,  And Finally Found His

Voice.

 

"Well,  Hugh," He Said In His Gentle Way.

 

"Well,  Dad." Hugh Grinned Sheepishly. Then They Both Started; Hugh Had

Never Called His Father Dad Before. He Thought Of Him That Way Always,

But He Could Never Bring Himself To Dare Anything But The More Formal

Father. In His Embarrassment He Had Forgotten Himself.

 

Chapter 5 Part 32

"I--I--I'M Sorry,  Sir," He Stuttered,  Flushing Painfully.

 

Mr. Carver Laughed To Hide His Own Embarrassment. "That'S All Right,

Hugh." His Smile Was Very Kindly. "Let It Be Dad. I Think I Like It

Better."

 

"That'S Fine!" Hugh Exclaimed.

 

The Tension Was Broken,  And Mr. Carver Began To Give The Dreaded Talk.

 

"I Hardly Know What To Say To You,  Hugh," He Began,  "On The Eve Of Your

Going Away To College. There Is So Much That You Ought To Know,  And I

Have No Idea Of How Much You Know Already."

 

Hugh Thought Of All The Smutty Stories He Had Heard--And Told.

Instinctively He Knew That His Father Referred To What A Local Doctor

Called "The Facts Of Life."

 

He Hung His Head And Said Gruffly,  "I Guess I Know A Good Deal--Dad."

 

"That'S Splendid!" Mr. Carver Felt The Full Weight Of A Father'S

Responsibilities Lifted From His Shoulders. "I Believe Dr. Hanson Gave

You A Talk At School About--Er,  Sex,  Didn'T He?"

 

"Yes,  Sir." Hugh Was Picking Out The Design In The Rug With The Toe Of

His Shoe And At The Same Time Unconsciously Pinching His Leg. He Pinched

So Hard That He Afterward Found A Black And Blue Spot,  But He Never

Knew How It Got There.

 

"Excellent Thing,  Excellent Thing,  These Talks By Medical Men." He Was

Beginning To Feel At Ease. "Excellent Thing. I Am Glad That You Are So

Well Informed; You Are Old Enough."

 

Hugh Wasn'T Well Informed; He Was Pathetically Ignorant. Most Of What He

Knew Had Come From The Smutty Stories,  And He Often Did Not Understand

The Stories That He Laughed At Most Heartily. He Was Consumed With

Curiosity.

 

"If There Is Anything You Want To Know,  Don'T Hesitate To Ask," His

Father Continued. He Had A Moment Of Panic Lest Hugh Would Ask

Something,  But The Boy Merely Shook His Head--And Pinched His Leg.

 

Mr. Carver Puffed His Cigar In Great Relief. "Well," He Continued,  "I

Don'T Want To Give You Much Advice,  But Your Mother Feels That I Ought

To Tell You A Little More About College Before You Leave. As I Have Told

You Before,  Sanford Is A Splendid Place,  A--Er,  A Splendid Place. Fine

Old Traditions And All That Sort Of Thing. Splendid Place. You Will Find

A Wonderful Faculty,  Wonderful. Most Of The Professors I Had Are Gone,

But I Am Sure That The New Ones Are Quite As Good. Your Opportunities

Will Be Enormous,  And I Am Sure That You Will Take Advantage Of Them. We

Have Been Very Proud Of Your High School Record,  Your Mother And I,  And

We Know That You Will Do Quite As Well In college. By The Way,  I Hope

You Take A Course In The Eighteenth-Century Essayists; You Will Find

Them Very Stimulating--Addison Especially.

 

"I--Er,  Your Mother Feels That I Ought To Say Something About The

Dissipations Of College. I--I'M Sure That I Don'T Know What To Say. I

Suppose That There Are Young Men In college Who Dissipate--Remember That

Chapter 5 Part 33

I Knew One Or Two--But Certainly Most Of Them Are Gentlemen. Crude

Men--Vulgarians Do Not Commonly Go To College. Vulgarity Has No Place In

College. You May,  I Presume,  Meet Some Men Not Altogether Admirable,  But

It Will Not Be Necessary For You To Know Them. Now,  As To The

Fraternity...."

 

Hugh Forgot To Pinch His Leg And Looked Up With Avid Interest In His

Face. The Nu Deltas!

 

Mr. Carver Leaned Forward To Stir The Fire With A Brass Poker Before He

Continued. Then He Settled Back In His Chair And Smoked Comfortably. He

Was Completely At Ease Now. The Worst Was Over.

 

"I Have Written To The Nu Deltas About You And Told Them That I Hoped

That They Would Find You Acceptable,  As I Am Sure They Will. As A

Legacy,  You Will Be Among The First Considered." For An Hour More He

Talked About The Fraternity. Hugh,  His Embarrassment Swallowed By His

Interest,  Eagerly Asking Questions. His Father'S Admiration For The

Fraternity Was Second Only To His Admiration For The College,  And

Before The Evening Was Over He Had Filled Hugh With An Idolatry For

Both.

 

He Left His Father That Night Feeling Closer To Him Than He Ever Had

Before. He Was Going To Be A College Man Like His Father--Perhaps A Nu

Delta,  Too. He Wished That They Had Got Chummy Before. When He Went To

Bed,  He Lay Awake Dreaming,  Thinking Sometimes Of Helen Simpson And Of

How He Had Kissed Her That Afternoon,  But More Often Of Sanford And Nu

Delta. He Was So Deeply Grateful To His Father For Talking To Him

Frankly And Telling Him Everything About College. He Was Darned Lucky To

Have A Father Who Was A College Grad And Could Put Him Wise. It Was

Pretty Tough On The Fellows Whose Fathers Had Never Been To College.

Poor Fellows,  They Didn'T Know The Ropes The Way He Did....

 

He Finally Fell Off To Sleep,  Picturing Himself In The Doorway Of The Nu

Delta House Welcoming His Father To A Reunion.

 

That Talk Was Returning To Hugh Repeatedly. He Wondered If Sanford Had

Changed Since His Father'S Day Or If His Father Had Just Forgotten What

College Was Like. Everything Seemed So Different From What He Had Been

Told To Expect. Perhaps He Was Just Soft And Some Of The Fellows Weren'T

As Crude As He Thought They Were.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6 Pg 34

 

Hugh Was By No Means Continuously Depressed; As A Matter Of Fact,  Most

Of The Time He Was Agog With Delight,  Especially Over The Rallies That

Were Occurring With Increasing Frequency As The Football Season

Progressed. Sometimes The Rallies Were Carefully Prepared Ceremonies

Held In The Gymnasium; Sometimes They Were Entirely Spontaneous.

Chapter 6 Pg 35

 

A Group Of Men Would Rush Out Of A Dormitory Or Fraternity House

Yelling,  "Peerade,  Peerade!" Instantly Every One Within Hearing Would

Drop His Books--Or His Cards--And Rush To The Yelling Group,  Which Would

Line Up In Fours And Begin Circling The Campus,  The Line Ever Getting

Longer As More Men Came Running Out Of The Dormitories And Fraternity

Houses. On,  On They Would Go,  Arm In arm,  Dancing,  Singing Sanford

Songs,  Past Every Dormitory On The Campus,  Past Every Fraternity

House--Pausing Occasionally To Give A Cheer,  Always,  However,  Keeping

One Goal In Mind,  The Fraternity House Where The Team Lived During The

Football Season. Then When The Cheer-Leaders And The Team Were Heading

The Procession,  The Mob Would Make For The Football Field,  With The Cry

Of "Wood,  Freshmen,  Wood!" Ringing Down The Line.

     

Hugh Was Always One Of The First Freshmen To Break From The Line In His

Eagerness To Get Wood. In an Incredibly Short Time He And His Classmates

Had Found A Large Quantity Of Old Lumber,  Empty Boxes,  Rotten Planks,

And Not Very Rotten Gates. When A Light Was Applied To The Clumsy Pile

Of Wood,  The Flames Leaped Up Quickly--Some One Always Seemed To Have A

Supply Of Kerosene Ready--And Revealed The Excited Upper-Classmen

Sitting On The Bleachers.

 

"Dance,  Freshmen,  Dance!"

 

Then The Freshmen Danced Around The Fire,  Holding Hands And Spreading

Into An Ever Widening Circle As The Fire Crackled And The Flames Leaped

Upward. Slowly,  Almost Impressively,  The Upper-Classmen Chanted:

 

 

 

 

                "Round The Fire,  The Freshmen Go,

                 Freshmen Go,

                 Freshmen Go;

                 Round The Fire The Freshmen Go

                 To Cheer Sanford."

 

 

 

 

The Song Had A Dozen Stanzas,  Only The Last Line Of Each Being

Different. The Freshmen Danced Until The Last Verse Was Sung,  Which

Ended With The Sanford Cheer:

 

 

 

 

                "Closer Now The Freshmen Go,

                 Freshmen Go,

                 Freshmen Go;

                 Closer Now The Freshmen Go

                 To Cheer--

 

                 Sanford!

                 Sanford! Rah,  Rah!

                 Sanford! Sanford!

                 San--San--San--

                 San--Ford,  San--Ford--San--Ford!"

Chapter 6 Pg 36

 

 

 

While The Upper-Classmen Were Singing The Last Stanza The Freshmen

Slowly Closed In On The Dying Fire. At The First Word Of The Cheer,  They

Stopped,  Turned Toward The Grand Stand,  And Joined The Cheering. That

Over,  They Broke And Ran For The Bleachers,  Scrambling Up The Wooden

Stands,  Shoving Each Other Out Of The Way,  Laughing And Shouting.

 

The Football Captain Usually Made A Short And Very Awkward Speech,  Which

Was Madly Applauded; Perhaps The Coach Said A Few Words; Two Or Three

Cheers Were Given; And Finally Every One Rose,  Took Off His Hat If He

Wore One--Nearly Every One But The Freshmen Went Bareheaded--And Sang

The College Hymn,  Simply And Religiously. Then The Crowd Broke,

Straggling In Groups Across The Campus,  Chatting,  Singing,  Shouting To

Each Other. Suddenly Lights Began To Flash In The Dormitory Windows. In

Less Than An Hour After The First Cry Of "Peerade!" The Men Were Back

In Their Rooms,  Once More Studying,  Talking,  Or Playing Cards.

 

It Was The Smoker Rallies,  Though,  That Hugh Found The Most Thrilling,

Especially The Last One Before The Final Game Of The Season,  The "Big

Game" With Raleigh College. There Were 1123 Students In Sanford,  And

More Than 1000 Were At The Rally. A Rough Platform Had Been Built At One

End Of The Gymnasium. On One Side Of It Sat The Band,  On The Other Side

The Glee Club--And Before It The Mass Of Students,  Smoking Cigarettes,

Corn-Cob Pipes,  And,  Occasionally,  A Cigar. The "Smokes" Had Been

Furnished Free By A Local Tobacconist; So Everybody Smoked Violently And

Too Much. In Half An Hour It Was Almost Impossible To See The Ceiling

Through The Dull Blue Haze,  And The Men In The Rear Of The Gymnasium Saw

The Speakers On The Platform Dimly Through A Wavering Mist.

 

The Band Played Various Sanford Songs,  And Everybody Sang. Occasionally

Wayne Gifford,  The Cheer-Leader,  Leaped Upon The Platform,  Raised A

Megaphone To His Mouth,  And Shouted,  "A Regular Cheer For Sanford--A

Regular Cheer For Sanford." Then He Lifted His Arms Above His Head,

Flinging The Megaphone Aside With The Same Motion,  And Waited Tense And

Rigid Until The Students Were On Their Feet. Suddenly He Turned Into A

Mad Dervish,  Twisting,  Bending,  Gesticulating,  Leaping,  Running Back And

Forth Across The Platform,  Shouting,  And Finally Throwing His Hands

Above His Head And Springing High Into The Air At The Concluding

"San--Ford!"

 

The Glee Club Sang To Mad Applause; A Tenor Twanged A Ukulele And Moaned

Various Blues; A Popular Professor Told Stories,  Some Of Them Funny,

Most Of Them Slightly Off Color; A Former Cheer-Leader Told Of The

Triumphs Of Former Sanford Teams--And The Atmosphere Grew Denser And

Denser,  Bluer And Bluer,  As The Smoke Wreathed Upward. The Thousand Boys

Leaned Intently Forward,  Occasionally Jumping To Their Feet To Shout And

Cheer,  And Then Sinking Back Into Their Chairs,  Tense And Excited. As

Each Speaker Mounted The Platform They Shouted: "Off With Your Coat! Off

With Your Coat!" And The Speakers,  Even The Professor,  Had To Shed Their

Coats Before They Were Permitted To Say A Word.

 

When The Team Entered,  Bedlam Broke Loose. Every Student Stood On His

Chapter 6 Pg 37

Chair,  Waved His Arms,  Slapped His Neighbor On The Back Or Hugged Him

Wildly,  Threw His Hat In The Air,  If He Had One--And,  So Great Was His

Training,  Keeping An Eye On The Cheer-Leader,  Who Was On The Platform

Going Through A Series Of Indescribable Contortions. Suddenly He

Straightened Up,  Held His Hands Above His Head Again,  And Shouted

Through His Megaphone: "A Regular Cheer For The Team--A Regular Cheer

For The Team. Make It Big--Big! Ready--!" Away Whirled The Megaphone,

And He Went Through Exactly The Same Performance That He Had Used Before

In Conducting The Regular Cheer. Gifford Looked Like An Inspired Madman,

But He Knew Exactly What He Was Doing. The Students Cheered Lustily,  So

Lustily That Some Of Them Were Hoarse The Next Day. They Continued To

Yell After The Cheer Was Completed,  Ceasing Only When Gifford Signaled

For Silence.

 

Then There Were Speeches By Each Member Of The Team,  All

Enthusiastically Applauded,  And Finally The Speech Of The Evening,  That

Of The Coach,  Jack Price. He Was A Big,  Compactly Built Man With Regular

Features,  Heavy Blond Hair,  And Pale,  Cold Blue Eyes. He Threw Off His

Coat With A Belligerent Gesture,  Stuck His Hands Into His Trousers

Pockets,  And Waited Rigidly Until The Cheering Had Subsided. Then He

Began:

 

"Go Ahead And Yell. It'S Easy As Hell To Cheer Here In The Gym; But What

Are You Going To Do Saturday Afternoon?"

 

His Voice Was Sharp With Sarcasm,  And To The Shouts Of "Yell! Fight!"

That Came From All Over The Gymnasium,  He Answered,  "Yeah,

Maybe--Maybe." He Shifted His Position,  Stepping Toward The Front Of The

Platform,  Thrusting His Hands Deeper Into His Pockets.

 

"I'Ve Seen A Lot Of Football Games,  And I'Ve Seen Lots Of Rooters,  But

This Is The Goddamndest Gang Of Yellow-Bellied Quitters That I'Ve Ever

Seen. What Happened Last Saturday When We Were Behind? I'M Asking You;

What Happened? You Quit! Quit Like A Bunch Of Whipped Curs. God! You'Re

Yellow,  Yellow As Hell. But The Team Went On Fighting--And It Won,  Won

In Spite Of You,  Won For A Bunch Of Yellow Pups. And Why? Because The

Team'S Got Guts. And When It Was All Over,  You Cheered And Howled And

Serpentined And Felt Big As Hell. Lord Almighty! You Acted As If You'D

Done Something."

 

His Right Hand Came Out Of His Pocket With A Jerk,  And He Extended A

Fighting,  Clenched Fist Toward His Breathless Audience. "I'Ll Tell You

Something," He Said Slowly,  Viciously; "The Team Can'T Win Alone Day

After To-Morrow. _It Can'T Win Alone!_ You'Ve Got To Fight. Damn It!

_You'Ve Got To Fight!_ Raleigh'S Good,  Damn Good; It Hasn'T Lost A Game

This Season--And We'Ve Got To Win,  _Win_! Do You Hear? We'Ve Got To Win!

And There'S Only One Way That We Can Win,  And That'S With Every Man Back

Of The Team. Every Goddamned Mother'S Son Of You. The Team'S Good,  But

It Can'T Win Unless You Fight--_Fight_!"

 

Suddenly His Voice Grew Softer,  Almost Gentle. He Held Out Both Hands To

The Boys,  Who Had Become So Tense That They Had Forgotten To Smoke.

"We'Ve Got To Win,  Fellows,  For Old Sanford. Are You Back Of Us?"

 

"Yes!" The Tension Shattered Into A Thousand Yells. The Boys Leaped On

The Chairs And Shouted Until They Could Shout No More. When Gifford

Called For "A Regular Cheer For Jack Price" And Then One For The

Chapter 6 Pg 38

Team--"Make It The Biggest You Ever Gave"--They Could Respond With Only

A Hoarse Croak.

 

Finally The Hymn Was Sung--At Least,  The Boys Tried Loyally To Sing

It--And They Stood Silent And Almost Reverent As The Team Filed Out Of

The Gymnasium.

 

Hugh Walked Back To Surrey Hall With Several Men. No One Said A Word

Except A Quiet Good Night As They Parted. Carl Was In The Room When He

Arrived. He Sank Into A Chair And Was Silent For A Few Minutes.

 

Finally He Said In a Happy Whisper,  "Wasn'T It Wonderful,  Carl?"

 

"Un-Huh. Damn Good."

 

"Gosh,  I Hope We Win. We'Ve _Got_ To!"

 

Carl Looked Up,  His Cheeks Redder Than Usual,  His Eyes Glittering. "God,

Yes!" He Breathed Piously.

 

Chapter 7 Pg 39

 

The Football Season Lasted From The First Of October To The Latter Part

Of November,  And During Those Weeks Little Was Talked About,  Or Even

Thought About,  On The Campus But Football. There Were Undergraduates Who

Knew The Personnel Of Virtually Every Football Team In The Country,  The

Teams That Had Played Against Each Other,  Their Relative Merits,  The

Various Scores,  The Outstanding Players Of Each Position. Half The

Students At Sanford Regularly Made Out "All American" Teams,  And Each

Man Was More Than Willing To Debate The Quality Of His Team Against That

Of Any Other. Night After Night The Students Gathered In Groups In

Dormitory Rooms And Fraternity Houses,  Discussing Football,  Football,

Football; Even Religion And Sex,  The Favorite Topics For "Bull

Sessions," Could Not Compete With Football,  Especially When Some One

Mentioned Raleigh College. Raleigh Was Sanford'S Ancient Rival; To

Defeat Her Was Of Cosmic Importance.

 

There Was A Game Every Saturday. About Half The Time The Team Played At

Home; The Other Games Were Played On The Rivals' Fields. No Matter How

Far Away The Team Traveled,  The College Traveled With It. The Men Who

Had The Necessary Money Went By Train; A Few Owned Automobiles: But Most

Of The Undergraduates Had Neither An Automobile Nor Money For Train

Fare. They "Bummed" Their Way. Some Of Them Emulated Professional

Tramps,  And "Rode The Beams," But Most Of Them Started Out Walking,

Trusting That Kind-Hearted Motorists Would Pick Them Up And Carry Them

At Least Part Way To Their Destination. Although The Distances Were

Sometimes Great,  And Although Many Motorists Are Not Kind,  There Is No

Record Of Any Man Who Ever Started For A Game Not Arriving In Time For

The Referee'S First Whistle. Somehow,  By Hook Or By Crook--And It Was

Chapter 7 Pg 40

Often By Crook--The Boys Got There,  And,  What Is More Astonishing,  They

Got Back. On Monday Morning At 8:45 They Were In chapel,  Usually Worn

And Tired,  It Is True,  Ready To Bluff Their Way Through The Day'S

Assignments,  And Damning Any Instructor Who Was Heartless Enough To Give

Them A Quiz. Some Of Them Were Worn Out From Really Harsh Traveling

Experiences; Some Of Them Had More Exciting Adventures To Relate Behind

Closed Doors To Selected Groups Of Confidants.

 

Football! Nothing Else Mattered. And As The Weeks Passed,  The Excitement

Grew,  Especially As The Day Drew Near For The Raleigh Game,  Which This

Year Was To Be Played On The Sanford Field. What Were Sanford'S Chances?

Would Harry Slade,  Sanford'S Great Half-Back,  Make All American? "Damn

It To Hell,  He Ought To. It'Ll Be A Stinkin' Shame If He Don'T." Would

Raleigh'S Line Be Able To Stop Slade'S End Runs? Slade! Slade! He Was

The Team,  The Hope And Adoration Of The Whole College.

 

Three Days Before The "Big Game" The Alumni Began To Pour Into Town,

Most Of Them Fairly Recent Graduates,  But Many Of Them Gray-Haired Men

Who Boasted That They Hadn'T Missed A Sanford-Raleigh Game In Thirty

Years. Hundreds Of Alumni Arrived,  Filling The Two Hotels To Capacity

And Overrunning The Fraternity Houses,  The Students Doubling Up Or

Seeking Hospitality From A Friend In a Dormitory.

 

In The Little Room In The Rear Of The Sanford Pool And Billiard Parlors

There Was Almost Continual Excitement. Jim Mccarty,  The Proprietor,  A

Big,  Jovial,  Red-Faced Man Whom All The Students Called Mac,  Was The

Official Stake-Holder For The College. Bets For Any Amount Could Be

Placed With Him. Money From Raleigh Flowed Into His Pudgy Hands,  And He

Placed It At The Odds Offered With Eager Sanford Takers. By The Day Of

The Game His Safe Held Thousands Of Dollars,  Most Of It Wagered At Five

To Three,  Raleigh Offering Odds. There Was Hardly An Alumnus Who Did Not

Prove His Loyalty To Sanford By Visiting Mac'S Back Room And Putting

Down A Few Greenbacks,  At Least. Some Were More Loyal Than Others; The

Most Loyal Placed A Thousand Dollars--At Five To Two.

 

There Was Rain For Two Days Before The Game,  But On Friday Night The

Clouds Broke. A Full Moon Seemed To Shine Them Away,  And The Whole

Campus Rejoiced With Great Enthusiasm. Most Of The Alumni Got Drunk To

Show Their Deep Appreciation To The Moon,  And Many Of The Undergraduates

Followed The Example Set By Their Elders.

 

All Friday Afternoon Girls Had Been Arriving,  Dozens Of Them,  To Attend

The Fraternity Dances. One Dormitory Had Been Set Aside For Them,  The

Normal Residents Seeking Shelter In Other Dormitories. No Man Ever

Objected To Resigning His Room To A Girl. He Never Could Tell What He

Would Find When He Returned To It Monday Morning. Some Of The Girls Left

Strange Mementos....

 

No One Except A Few Notorious Grinds Studied That Night. Some Of The

Students Were,  Of Course,  At The Fraternity Dances; Some Of Them Sat In

Dormitory Rooms And Discussed The Coming Game From Every Possible Angle;

And Groups Of Them Wandered Around The Campus,  Peering Into The

Fraternity Houses,  Commenting On The Girls,  Wandering On Humming A Song

That An Orchestra Had Been Playing,  Occasionally Pausing To Give A

"Regular Cheer" For The Moon.

 

Hugh Was Too Much Excited To Stay In a Room; So With Several Other

Chapter 7 Part 41

Freshmen He Traveled The Campus. He Passionately Envied The Dancers In

The Fraternity Houses But Consoled Himself With The Thought,  "Maybe

I'Ll Be Dancing At The Nu Delt House Next Year." Then He Had A Spasm Of

Fright. Perhaps The Nu Delts--Perhaps No Fraternity Would Bid Him. The

Moon Lost Its Brilliance; For A Moment Even The Sanford-Raleigh Game Was

Forgotten.

 

The Boys Were Standing Before A Fraternity House,  And As The Music

Ceased,  Jack Collings Suggested: "Let'S Serenade Them. You Lead,  Hugh."

 

Hugh Had A Sweet,  Light Tenor Voice. It Was Not At All Remarkable,  Just

Clear And True; But He Had Easily Made The Glee Club And Had An

Excellent Chance To Be Chosen Freshman Song-Leader.

 

Collings Had Brought A Guitar With Him. He Handed It To Hugh,  Who,  Like

Most Musical Undergraduates,  Could Play Both A Guitar And A Banjo. "Sing

That 'I Arise From Dreams Of Thee' Thing That You Were Singing The Other

Night. We'Ll Hum."

 

Hugh Slipped The Cord Around His Neck,  Tuned The Guitar,  And Then

Thrummed A Few Opening Chords. His Heart Was Beating At Double Time; He

Was Very Happy: He Was Serenading Girls At A Fraternity Dance. Couples

Were Strolling Out Upon The Veranda,  The Girls Throwing Warm Wraps Over

Their Shoulders,  The Men Lighting Cigarettes And Tossing The Burnt

Matches On The Lawn. Their White Shirt-Fronts Gleamed Eerily In The Pale

Light Cast By The Japanese Lanterns With Which The Veranda Was Hung.

 

Hugh Began To Sing Shelley'S Passionate Lyric,  Set So Well To Music By

Tod B. Galloway. His Mother Had Taught Him The Song,  And He Loved It.

 

 

 

 

                "I Arise From Dreams Of Thee

                 In The First Sweet Sleep Of Night,

                 When The Winds Are Breathing Low

                 And The Stars Are Shining Bright.

                 I Arise From Dreams Of Thee,

                 And A Spirit In My Feet

                 Hath Led Me--Who Knows How?

                 To Thy Chamber-Window,  Sweet!"

 

 

 

 

Two Of The Boys,  Who Had Heard Hugh Sing The Song Before,  Hummed A Soft

Accompaniment. When He Began The Second Verse Several More Began To Hum;

They Had Caught The Melody. The Couples On The Veranda Moved Quietly To

The Porch Railing,  Their Chatter Silent,  Their Attention Focused On A

Group Of Dim Figures Standing In The Shadow Of An Elm. Hugh Was Singing

Well,  Better Than He Ever Had Before. Neither He Nor HisBy Fatal Power,

  The Limbs Which I Was Wont To Soothe In Passion'S Hour.

 

  Xxxiv

 

    But If She Should Be Lost In Happy Sleep,

  Wait,  Bear With Her,  Grant Her But Three Hours' Grace,

    And Thunder Not,  O Cloud,  But Let Her Keep

Chapter 7 Part 42

  The Dreaming Vision Of Her Lover'S Face--

  Loose Not Too Soon The Imagined Knot Of That Embrace.

 

  Xxxv

 

    As Thou Wouldst Wake The Jasmine'S Budding Wonder,

  Wake Her With Breezes Blowing Mistily;

    Conceal Thy Lightnings,  And With Words Of Thunder

  Speak Boldly,  Though She Answer Haughtily

  With Eyes That Fasten On The Lattice And On Thee.

 

  Xxxvi

 

  _The Cloud Is Instructed How To Announce Himself_

 

    "Thou Art No Widow; For Thy Husband'S Friend

  Is Come To Tell Thee What Himself Did Say--

    A Cloud With Low,  Sweet Thunder-Tones That Send

  All Weary Wanderers Hastening On Their Way,

  Eager To Loose The Braids Of Wives That Lonely Stay."

 

  Xxxvii

 

  _In Such A Way As To Win The Favour Of His Auditor_.

 

    Say This,  And She Will Welcome Thee Indeed,

  Sweet Friend,  With A Yearning Heart'S Tumultuous Beating

    And Joy-Uplifted Eyes; And She Will Heed

  The After Message: Such A Friendly Greeting

  Is Hardly Less To Woman'S Heart Than Lovers' Meeting.

 

  Xxxviii

 

  _The Message Itself_.

 

    Thus Too,  My King,  I Pray Of Thee To Speak,

  Remembering Kindness Is Its Own Reward;

    "Thy Lover Lives,  And From The Holy Peak

  Asks If These Absent Days Good Health Afford--

  Those Born To Pain Must Ever Use This Opening Word.

 

  Xxxix

 

    With Body Worn As Thine,  With Pain As Deep,

  With Tears And Ceaseless Longings Answering Thine,

    With Sighs More Burning Than The Sighs That Keep

  Thy Lips Ascorch--Doomed Far From Thee To Pine,

  He Too Doth Weave The Fancies That Thy Soul Entwine.

 

  Xl

 

    He Used To Love,  When Women Friends Were Near,

  To Whisper Things He Might Have Said Aloud

    That He Might Touch Thy Face And Kiss Thine Ear;

  Unheard And Even Unseen,  No Longer Proud,

  He Now Must Send This Yearning Message By A Cloud.

 

  Xli

Chapter 7 Part 43

 

  _According To The Treatise Called "Virtues

  Banner," A Lover Has Four Solaces In Separation:

  First,  Looking At Objects That Remind

  Him Of Her He Loves_;

 

    'I See Thy Limbs In Graceful-Creeping Vines,

  Thy Glances In The Eyes Of Gentle Deer,

    Thine Eyebrows In The Ripple'S Dancing Lines,

  Thy Locks In Plumes,  Thy Face In Moonlight Clear--

  Ah,  Jealous! But The Whole Sweet Image Is Not Here.

 

  Xlii

 

  _Second,  Painting A Picture Of Her_;

 

    And When I Paint That Loving Jealousy

  With Chalk Upon The Rock,  And My Caress

    As At Thy Feet I Lie,  I Cannot See

  Through Tears That To Mine Eyes Unbidden Press--

  So Stern A Fate Denies A Painted Happiness.

 

  Xliii

 

  _Third,  Dreaming Of Her_;

 

    And When I Toss Mine Arms To Clasp Thee Tight,

  Mine Own Though But In Visions Of A Dream--

    They Who Behold The Oft-Repeated Sight,

  The Kind Divinities Of Wood And Stream,

  Let Fall Great Pearly Tears That On The Blossoms Gleam.

 

  Xliv

 

  _Fourth,  Touching Something Which She

  Has Touched_.

 

    Himalaya'S Breeze Blows Gently From The North,

  Unsheathing Twigs Upon The Deodar

    And Sweet With Sap That It Entices Forth--

  I Embrace It Lovingly; It Came So Far,

  Perhaps It Touched Thee First,  My Life'S Unchanging Star!

 

  Xlv

 

    Oh,  Might The Long,  Long Night Seem Short To Me!

  Oh,  Might The Day His Hourly Tortures Hide!

    Such Longings For The Things That Cannot Be,

  Consume My Helpless Heart,  Sweet-Glancing Bride,

  In burning Agonies Of Absence From Thy Side.

 

  Xlvi

 

  _The Bride Is Besought Not To Lose Heart At

  Hearing Of Her Lover'S Wretchedness_,

 

    Yet Much Reflection,  Dearest,  Makes Me Strong,

  Strong With An Inner Strength; Nor Shouldst Thou Feel

Chapter 7 Pg 44

    Despair At What Has Come To Us Of Wrong;

  Who Has Unending Woe Or Lasting Weal?

  Our Fates Move Up And Down Upon A Circling Wheel.

 

  Xlvii

 

  _And To Remember That The Curse Has Its

  Appointed End,  When The Rainy SAround

His Neck. "What A Wonderful,  Wonderful Girl! Sweeter Than Helen--Lots

Sweeter.... She'S Like The Night--And Moonlight.... Like Moonlight

And--" The Music Of The "Indian Serenade" Began To Thrill Through His

Mind:

 

 

 

 

                "I Arise From Dreams Of Thee

                 In The First Sweet Sleep Of Night....

 

 

 

 

Oh,  She'S Sweet,  Sweet--Like Music And Moonlight...." He Fell Asleep,

Repeating "Music And Moonlight" Over And Over Again--"Music And

Moonlight...."

 

 

The Morning Of The "Big Game" Proved Ideal,  Crisp And Cold,  Crystal

Clear. Indian Summer Was Near Its Close,  But There Was Still Something

Of Its Dreamy Wonder In The Air,  And The Hills Still Flamed With

Glorious Autumn Foliage. The Purples,  The Mauves,  The Scarlets,  The

Burnt Oranges Were A Little Dimmed,  A Little Less Brilliant--The Leaves

Were Rustling Dryly Now--But There Was Beauty In dying Autumn,  Its

Splendor Slowly Fading,  As There Was In Its First Startling Burst Of

Color.

 

Classes That Saturday Morning Were A Farce,  But They Were Held; The

Administration,  Which The Boys Damned Heartily,  Insisted Upon It. Some

Of The Instructors Merely Took The Roll And Dismissed Their Classes,

Feeling That Honor Had Been Satisfied; But Others Held Their Classes

Through The Hour,  Lecturing The Disgusted Students On Their Lack Of

Interest,  Warning Them That Examinations Weren'T As Far Off As The

Millennium.

 

Hugh Felt That He Was Lucky; He Had Only One Class--It Was With Alling

In Latin--And It Had Been Promptly Dismissed. "When The Day Comes," Said

Alling,  "That Latin Can Compete With Football,  I'Ll--Well,  I'Ll Probably

Get A Living Wage. You Had Better Go Before I Get To Talking About A

Living Wage. It Is One Of My Favorite Topics." He Waved His Hand Toward

The Door; The Boys Roared With Delight And Rushed Out Of The Room,

Shoving Each Other And Laughing. They Ran Out Of The Building; All Of

Them Were Too Excited To Walk.

 

By Half-Past One The Stands Were Filled. Most Of The Girls Wore Fur

Coats,  As Did Many Of The Alumni,  But The Students Sported No Such

Luxuries; Nine Tenths Of Them Wore "Baa-Baa Coats," Gray Jackets Lined

Chapter 7 Pg 45

With Sheep'S Wool. Except For An Occasional Banner,  Usually Carried By A

Girl,  And The Bright Hats Of The Women,  There Was Little Color To The

Scene. The Air Was Sharp,  And The Spectators Huddled Down Into Their

Warm Coats.

 

The Rival Cheering Sections,  Seated On Opposite Sides Of The Field,

Alternated In cheering And Singing,  Each Applauding The Other'S Efforts.

The Cheering Wasn'T Very Good,  And The Singing Was Worse; But There Was

A Great Deal Of Noise,  And That Was About All That Mattered To Either

Side.

 

A Few Minutes Before Two,  The Raleigh Team Ran Upon The Field. The

Raleigh Cheering Section Promptly Went Mad. When The Sanford Team

Appeared A Minute Later,  The Sanford Cheering Section Tried Its Best To

Go Madder,  The Boys Whistling And Yelling Like Possessed Demons. Wayne

Gifford Brought Them To Attention By Holding His Hands Above His Head.

He Called For The Usual Regular Cheer For The Team And Then For A Short

Cheer For Each Member Of It,  Starting With The Captain,  Sherman

Walford,  And Ending With The Great Half-Back,  Harry Slade.

 

Suddenly There Was Silence. The Toss-Up Had Been Completed; The Teams

Were In Position On The Field. Slade Had Finished Building A Slender

Pyramid Of Mud,  On Which He Had Balanced The Ball. The Referee Held Up

His Hand. "Are You Ready,  Sanford?" Walford Signaled His Readiness. "Are

You Ready,  Raleigh?"

 

The Shrill Blast Of The Referee'S Whistle--And The Game Was On. The

First Half Was A See-Saw Up And Down The Field. Near The End Of The Half

Raleigh Was Within Twenty Yards Of The Sanford Line. Shouts Of "Score!

Score! Score!" Went Up From The Raleigh Rooters,  Rhythmic,  Insistent.

"Hold 'Em! Hold 'Em! Fight! Fight! Fight!" The Sanford Cheering Section

Pleaded,  Almost Sobbing The Words. A Forward Pass Skilfully Completed

Netted Raleigh Sixteen Yards. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

 

The Timekeepeot

    Cool After Burning Days.

 

 

 

 

  The Rains

 

  The Rain Advances Like A King

    In awful Majesty;

  Hear,  Dearest,  How His Thunders Ring

    Like Royal Drums,  And See

  His Lightning-Banners Wave; A Cloud

    For Elephant He Rides,

  And Finds His Welcome From The Crowd

    Of Lovers And Of Brides.

 

  The Clouds,  A Mighty Army,  March

    With Drumlike Thundering

  And Stretch Upon The Rainbow'S Arch

    The Lightning'S Flashing String;

  The Cruel Arrows Of The Rain

    Smite Them Who Love,  Apart

  From Whom They Love,  With Stinging Pain,

Chapter 7 Pg 46

    And Pierce Them To The Heart.

 

  The Forest Seems To Show Its Glee

    In Flowering Nipa Plants;

  In Waving Twigs Of Many A Tree

    Wind-Swept,  It Seems To Dance;

  Its Ketak-Blossom'S Opening Sheath

    Is Like A Smile Put On

  To Greet The Rain'S Reviving Breath,

    Now Pain And Heat Are Gone.

 

  To You,  Dear,  May The Cloudy Time

    Bring All That You Desire,

  Bring Every Pleasure,  Perfect,  Prime,

    To Set A Bride On Fire;

  May Rain Whereby Life Wakes And Shines

    Where There Is Power Of Life,

  The Unchanging Friend Of Clinging Vines,

    Shower Blessings On My Wife.

 

 

 

 

  Autumn

 

  The Autumn Comes,  A Maiden Fair

    In Slenderness And Grace,

  With Nodding Rice-Stems In Her Hair

    And Lilies In Her Face.

  In Flowers Of Grasses She Is Clad;

    And As She Moves Along,

  Birds Greet Her With Their Cooing Glad

    Like Bracelets' Tinkling Song.

 

  A Diadem Adorns The Night

    Of Multitudinous Stars;

  Her Silken Robe Is White Moonlight,

    Set Free From Cloudy Bars;

  And On Her Face (The Radiant Moon)

    Bewitching Smiles Are Shown:

  She Seems A Slender Maid,  Who Soon

    Will Be A Woman Grown.

 

  Over The Rice-Fields,  Laden Plants

    Are Shivering To The Breeze;

  While In His Brisk Caresses Dance

    The Blossom-Burdened Trees;

  He Ruffles Every Lily-Pond

    Where Blossoms Kiss And Part,

  And Stirs With Lover'S Fancies Fond

    The Young Man'S Eager Heart.

 

 

 

 

  Winter

 

  The Bloom Of Tenderer Flowers Is Past

Chapter 7 Pg 47

    And Lilies Droop Forlorn,

  For Winter-Time Is Come At Last,

    Rich With Its Ripened Corn;

  Yet For The Wealth Of Blossoms Lost

    Some Hardier Flowers Appear

  That Bid Defiance To The Frost

    Of Sterner Days,  My Dear.

 

  The Vines,  Remembering Summer,  Shiver

    In Frosty Winds,  And Gain

  A Fuller Life From Mere Endeavour

    To Live Through All That Pain;

  Yet In The Struggle And Acquist

    They Turn As Pale And Wan

  As Lonely Women Who Have Missed

    Known Love,  Now Lost And Gone.

 

  Then May These Winter Days Show Forth

    To You Each Known Delight,

  Bring All That Women Count As Worth

    Pure Happiness And Bright;

  While Villages,  With Bustling Cry,

    Bring Home The Ripened Corn,

  And Herons Wheel Through Wintry Sky,

    Forget Sad Thoughts Forlorn.

 

 

 

 

  Early Spring

 

  Now,  Dearest,  Lend A Heedful Ear

    And Listen While I Sing

  Delights To Every Maiden Dear,

    The Charms Of Early Spring:

  When Earth Is Dotted With The Heaps

    Of Corn,  When Heron-Scream

  Is Rare But Sweet,  When Passion Leaps

    And Paints A Livelier Dream.

 

  When All Must Cheerfully Applaud

    A Blazing Open Fire;

  Or If They Needs Must Go Abroad,

    The Sun Is Their Desire;

  When Everybody Hopes To Find

    The Frosty Chill Allayed

  By Garments Warm,  A Window-Blind

    Shut,  And A Sweet Young Maid.

 

  Then May The Days Of Early Spring

    For You Be Rich And Full

  With Love'S Proud,  Soft Philandering

    And Many A Candy-Pull,

  With Sweetest Rice And Sugar-Cane:

    And May You Float Above

  The Absent Grieving And The Pain

    Of Separated Love.

 

Chapter 7 Pg 48

 

 

 

  Spring

 

  A Stalwart Soldier Comes,  The Spring,

    Who Bears The Bow Of Love;

  And On That Bow,  The Lustrous String

    Is Made Of Bees,  That Move

  With Malice As They Speed The Shaft

    Of Blossoming Mango-Flower

  At Us,  Dear,  Who Have Never Laughed

    At Love,  Nor Scorned His Power.

 

  Their Blossom-Burden Weights The Trees;

    The Winds In Fra-Flower

  At Us,  Dear,  Who Have Never Laughed

    At Love,  Nor Scorned ors--One Of Them,  Alling,  The Other,  Jones Of The Economics

Department. Hugh Was Almost Literally Broken-Hearted; The Defeat Lay On

Him Like An Awful Sorrow That Never Could Be Lifted. Every Inch Of Him

Ached,  But His Despair Was Greater Than His Physical Pain. The Sharp,

Clear Voice Of Jones Broke Into His Half-Deadened Consciousness.

 

"I Can'T Understand All This Emotional Excitement," Said Jones Crisply.

"A Football Game Is A Football Game,  Not A National Calamity. I Enjoy

The Game Myself,  But Why Weep Over It? I Don'T Think I Ever Saw Anything

More Absurd Than Those Boys Singing With Tears Running Into Their

Mouths."

 

Shocked,  The Boys Looked At Each Other. They Started To Make Angry

Remarks But Paused As Alling Spoke.

 

"Of Course,  What You Say,  Jones,  Is Quite Right," He Remarked Calmly,

"Quite Right. But,  Do You Know,  I Pity You."

 

"Alling'S A Good Guy," Hugh Told Carl Later; "He'S Human."

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8 Pg 49

 

After The Sanford-Raleigh Game,  The College Seemed To Be Slowly Dying.

The Boys Held Countless Post-Mortems Over The Game,  Explaining To Each

Other Just How It Had Been Lost Or How It Could Have Been Won. They

Watched The Newspapers Eagerly As The Sport Writers Announced Their

Choice For The So-Called All American Team. If Slade Was On The Team,

The Writer Was Conceded To "Know His Dope"; If Slade Wasn'T,  The Writer

Was A "Dumbbell." But All This Pseudo-Excitement Was Merely Picking At

The Covers; There Was No Real Heart In It. Gradually The Football Talk

Died Down; Freshmen Ceased To Write Themes About Sanford'S Great

Fighting Spirit; Sex And Religion Once More Became Predominant At The

Chapter 8 Pg 50

"Bull Sessions."

 

Studies,  Too,  Began To Find A Place In The Sun. Hour Examinations Were

Coming,  And Most Of The Boys Knew That They Were Miserably Prepared.

Lights Were Burning In Fraternity Houses And Dormitories Until Late At

Night,  And Mighty Little Of Their Glow Was Shed On Poker Parties And

Crap Games. The College Had Begun To Study.

 

When Hugh Finally Calmed Down And Took Stock,  He Was Horrified And

Frightened To Discover How Far He Was Behind In all His Work. He Had

Done His Lessons Sketchily From Day To Day,  But He Really Knew Nothing

About Them,  And He Knew That He Didn'T. Since Morse'S Departure,  He Had

Loafed,  Trusting To Luck And The Knowledge He Had Gained In High School.

So Far He Had Escaped A Summons From The Dean,  But He Daily Expected

One,  And The Mere Thought Of Hour Examinations Made Him Shiver. He

Studied Hard For A Week,  Succeeding Only In Getting Gloriously Confused

And More Frightened. The Examinations Proved To Be Easier Than He Had

Expected; He Didn'T Fail In any Of Them,  But He Did Not Get A Grade

Above A C.

 

The Examination Flurry Passed,  And The College Was Left Cold. Nothing

Seemed To Happen. The Boys Went To The Movies Every Night,  Had A Peanut

Fight,  Talked To The Shadowy Actors; They Played Cards,  Pool,  And

Billiards,  Or Shot Craps; Saturday Nights Many Of Them Went To A Dance

At Hastings,  A Small Town Five Miles Away; They Held Bull Sessions And

Discussed Everything Under The Sun And Some Things Beyond It; They

Attended A Performance Of Shaw'S "Candida" Given By The Dramatic Society

And Voted It A "Wet" Show; And,  Incidentally,  Some Of Them Studied. But,

All In all,  Life Was Rather Tepid,  And Most Of The Boys Were Merely

Marking Time And Waiting For Christmas Vacation.

 

For Hugh The Vacation Came And Went With A Rush. It Was Glorious To Get

Home Again,  Glorious To See His Father And Mother,  And,  At First,

Glorious To See Helen Simpson. But Helen Had Begun To Pall; Her Kisses

Hardly Compensated For Her Conversation. She Gave Him A Little Feeling

Of Guilt,  Too,  Which He Tried To Argue Away. "Kissing Isn'T Really

Wrong. Everybody Pets; At Least,  Carl Says They Do. Helen Likes It

But..." Always That "But" Intruded Itself. "But It Doesn'T Seem Quite

Right When--I Don'T Really Love Her." When He Kissed Her For The Last

Time Before Returning To College,  He Had A Distinct Feeling Of Relief:

Well,  That Would Be Off His Mind For A While,  Anyway.

 

It Was A Sober,  Quiet Crowd Of Students--For The First Time They Were

Students--That Returned To Their Desks After The Vacation. The Final

Examinations Were Ahead Of Them,  Less Than A Month Away; And Those

Examinations Hung Over Their Heads Like The Relentless,  Glittering Blade

Of A Guillotine. The Boys Studied. "College Life" Ceased; There Was A

Brief Period Of Education.

 

Of Course,  They Did Not Desert The Movies,  And The Snow And Ice Claimed

Them. Part Of Indian Lake Was Scraped Free Of Snow,  And Every Clear

Afternoon Hundreds Of Boys Skated Happily,  Explaining Afterward That

They Had To Have Some Exercise If They Were Going To Be Able To Study.

On Those Afternoons The Lake Was A Pretty Sight,  Zestful,  Alive With

Color. Many Of The Men Wore Blue Sweaters,  Some Of Them Brightly Colored

Mackinaws,  All Of Them Knitted Toques. As Soon As The Cold Weather

Arrived,  The Freshmen Had Been Permitted To Substitute Blue Toques With

Chapter 8 Part 51

Orange Tassels For Their "Baby Bonnets." The Blue And Orange Stood Out

Vividly Against The White Snow-Covered Hills,  And The Skates Rang

Sharply As They Cut The Glare Ice.

 

There Was Snow-Shoeing,  Skiing,  And Sliding "To Keep A Fellow Fit So

That He Could Do Good Work In His Exams," But Much As The Boys Enjoyed

The Winter Sports,  A Black Pall Hung Over The College As The Examination

Period Drew Nearer And Nearer. The Library,  Which Had Been Virtually

Deserted All Term,  Suddenly Became Crowded. Every Afternoon And Evening

Its Big Tables Were Filled With Serious-Faced Lads Earnestly Bending

Over Books,  Making Notes,  Running Their Fingers Through Their Hair,

Occasionally Looking Up With Dazed Eyes,  Or Twisting About Miserably.

 

The Tension Grew Greater And Greater. The Upper-Classmen Were Quiet And

Businesslike,  But Most Of The Freshmen Were Frankly Terrified. A Few Of

Them Packed Their Trunks And Slunk Away,  And A Few More Openly Scorned

The Examinations And Their Frightened Classmates; But They Were The

Exceptions. All The Buoyancy Seemed Gone Out Of The College; Nothing Was

Left But An Intense Strain. The Dormitories Were Strangely Quiet At

Night. There Was No Playing Of Golf In The Hallways,  No Rolling Of Bats

Down The Stairs,  No Shouting,  No Laughter; A Man Who Made Any Noise Was

In Danger Of A Serious Beating. Even The Greetings As The Men Passed

Each Other On The Campus Were Quiet And Abstracted. They Ceased To Cut

Classes. Everybody Attended,  And Everybody Paid Close Attention Even To

The Most Tiresome Instructors.

 

Studious Seniors Began To Reap A Harvest Out Of Tutoring Sections. The

Meetings Were A Dollar "A Throw," And For Another Dollar A Student Could

Get A Mimeographed Outline Of A Course. But The Tutoring Sections Were

Only For The "Plutes" Or The Athletes,  Many Of Whom Were Subsidized By

Fraternities Or Alumni. Most Of The Students Had To Learn Their Own

Lessons; So They Often Banded Together In Small Groups To Make The Task

Less Arduous,  Finding Some Relief In Sociability.

 

The Study Groups,  Quite Properly Called Seminars,  Would Have Shocked

Many A Worthy Professor Had He Been Able To Attend One; But They Were

Truly Educative,  And To Many Students Inspiring. The Professor Had

Planted The Seed Of Wisdom With Them; It Was At The Seminars That They

Tried Honestly,  If Somewhat Hysterically And Irreverently,  To Make It

Grow.

 

Hugh Did Most Of His Studying Alone,  Fearing That The Seminars Would

Degenerate Into Bull Sessions,  As Many Of Them Did; But Carl Insisted

That He Join One Group That Was Going "To Wipe Up That Goddamned

English Course To-Night."

 

There Were Only Five Men At The Seminar,  Which Met In Surrey 19,  Because

Pudge Jamieson,  Who Was "Rating" An A In The Course And Was Therefore An

Authority,  Said That He Wouldn'T Come If There Were Any More. Pudge,  As

His Nickname Suggests,  Was Plump. He Was A Round-Faced,  Jovial Youngster

Who Learned Everything With Consummate Ease,  Wrote With Great Fluency

And Sometimes Real Beauty,  Peered Through His Horn-Rimmed Spectacles

Amusedly At The World,  And Read Every "Smut" Book That He Could Lay His

Hands On. His Library Of Erotica Was Already Famous Throughout The

College,  His Volumes Of Balzac'S "Droll Stories," Rabelais Complete,

"Mlle. De Maupin," Burton'S "Arabian Nights," And The "Decameron" Being

Chapter 8 Part 52

In Constant Demand. He Could Tell Literally Hundreds Of Dirty Stories,

Always Having A New One On Tap,  Always Looking When He Told It Like A

Complacent Cherub.

 

There Were Two Other Men In The Seminar. Freddy Dickson,  An Earnest,

Anemic Youth,  Seemed To Be Always Striving For Greater Acceleration And

Never Gaining It; Or As Pudge Put It,  "The Trouble With Freddy Is That

He'S Always Shifting Gears." Larry Stillwell,  The Last Man,  Was A Dark,

Handsome Youth With Exceedingly Regular Features,  Pomaded Hair Parted In

The Center And Shining Sleekly,  Fine Teeth,  And Rich Coloring: A

"Smooth" Boy Who Prided Himself On His Conquests And The Fact That He

Never Got A Grade Above A C In His Courses. There Was No Man In The

Freshman Class With A Finer Mind,  But He Declined To Study,  Declaring

Firmly That He Could Not Waste His Time Acquiring Impractical Tastes For

Useless Arts.

 

"Now Everybody Shut Up," Said Pudge,  Seating Himself In a Big Chair And

Laboriously Crossing One Leg Over The Other. "Put Some More Wood On The

Fire,  Hugh,  Will You?"

 

Hugh Stirred Up The Fire,  Piled On A Log Or So,  And Then Returned To His

Chair,  Hoping Against Belief That Something Really Would Be Accomplished

In The Seminar. All The Boys,  He Excepted,  Were Smoking,  And All Of Them

Were Lolling Back In dangerously Comfortable Attitudes.

 

"We'Ve Got To Get Going," Pudge Continued,  "And We Aren'T Going To Get

Anything Done If We Just Sit Around And Bull. I'M The Prof,  And I'M

Going To Ask Questions. Now,  Don'T Bull. If You Don'T Know,  Just Say,

'No Soap,' And If You Do Know,  Shoot Your Dope." He Grinned. "How'S That

For A Rime?"

 

"Atta Boy!" Carl Exclaimed Enthusiastically.

 

"Shut Up! Now,  The Stuff We Want To Get At To-Night Is The Poetry. No Use

Spending Any Time On The Composition. My Prof Said That We Would Have

To Write Themes In The Exam,  But We Can'T Do Anything About That Here.

You'Re All Getting By On Your Themes,  Anyway,  Aren'T You?"

 

"Yeah," The Listening Quartet Answered In Unison,  Larry Stillwell Adding

Dubiously,  "Well,  I'M Getting C'S."

 

"Larry," Said Carl In cold Contempt,  "You'Re A Goddamn Liar. I Saw A B

On One Of Your Themes The Other Day And An A On Another. What Are You

Always Pulling That Low-Brow Stuff For?"

 

Larry Had The Grace To Blush. "Aw," He Explained In Some Confusion,  "My

Prof'S Full Of Hooey. He Doesn'T Know A C Theme From An A One. He Makes

Me Sick. He--"

 

"Aw,  Shut Up!" Freddy Dickson Shouted. "Let'S Get Going; Let'S Get

Going. We Gotta Learn This Poetry. Damn! I Don'T Know Anything About It.

I Didn'T Crack The Book Till Two Days Ago."

 

Pudge Took Charge Again. "Close Your Gabs,  Everybody," He Commanded

Sternly. "There'S No Sense In Going Over The Prose Lit. You Can Do That

Chapter 8 Part 53

Better By Yourselves. God Knows I'M Not Going To Waste My Time Telling

You Bone-Heads What Carlyle Means By A Hero. If You Don'T Know Odin From

Mohammed By This Time,  You Can Roast In dante'S Hell For All Of Me. Now

Listen; The Prof Said That They Were Going To Make Us Place Lines,  And,

Of Course,  They'Ll Expect Us To Know What The Poems Are About. Hell!

How Some Of The Boys Are Going To Fox 'Em." He Paused To Laugh. "Jim

Hicks Told Me This Afternoon That 'Philomela' Was By Shakspere." The

Other Boys Did Not Understand The Joke,  But They All Laughed Heartily.

 

"Now," He Went On,  "I'Ll Give You The Name Of A Poem,  And Then You Tell

Me What It'S About And Who Wrote It."

 

He Leafed Rapidly Through An Anthology. "Carl,  Who Wrote 'Kubla Khan'?"

 

Carl Puffed His Pipe Meditatively. "I'M Going To Fox You,  Pudge," He

Said,  Frankly Triumphant; "I Know. Coleridge Wrote It. It Seems To Be

About A Jew Who Built A Swell Joint For A Wild Woman Or Something Like

That. I Can'T Make Much Out Of The Damn Thing."

 

"That'S Enough. Smack For Carl," Said Pudge Approvingly. "Smack" Meant

That The Answer Was Satisfactory. "Freddy,  Who Wrote 'La Belle Dame Sans

Merci'?"

 

Freddy Twisted In His Chair,  Thumped His Head With His Knuckles,  And

Finally Announced With A Groan Of Despair,  "No Soap."

 

"Hugh?"

 

"No Soap."

 

"Larry?"

 

"Well," Drawled Larry,  "I Think Jawn Keats Wrote It. It'S One Of Those

Bedtime Stories With A Kick. A Knight Gets Picked Up By A Jane. He Puts

Her On His Prancing Steed And Beats It For The Tall Timber. Keats Isn'T

Very Plain About What Happened There,  But I Suspect The Worst. Anyhow,

The Knight Woke Up The Next Morning With An Awful Rotten Taste In His

Mouth."

 

"Smack For Larry. Your Turn,  Carl. Who Wrote 'The West Wind'?"

 

"You Can'T Get Me On That Boy Masefield,  Pudge. I Know All His Stuff.

There Isn'T Any Story; It'S Just About The West Wind,  But It'S A Goddamn

Good Poem. It'S The Cat'S Pajamas."

 

"You Said It,  Carl," Hugh Chimed In,  "But I Like 'Sea Fever' Better.

 

 

 

 

                "I Must Go Down To The Seas Again,

                 To The Lonely Sea And The Sky....

 

 

 

 

Gosh! That'S Hot Stuff. 'August,  1914''S A Peach,  Too."

 

Chapter 8 Part 54

"Yeah," Agreed Larry Languidly; "I Got A Great Kick When The Prof Read

That In class. Masefield'S All Right. I Wish We Had More Of His Stuff

And Less Of Milton. Lord Almighty,  How I Hate Milton! What Th' Hell Do

They Have To Give Us That Tripe For?"

 

"Oh,  Let'S Get Going," Freddy Pleaded,  Running A Nervous Hand Through

His Mouse-Colored Hair. "Shoot A Question,  Pudge."

 

"All Right,  Freddy." Pudge Tried To Smile Wickedly But Succeeded Only In

Looking Like A Beaming Cherub. "Tell Us Who Wrote The 'Ode On

Intimations Of Immortality From Recollections Of Early Childhood.'

Cripes! What A Title!"

 

Freddy Groaned. "I Know That Wadsworth Wrote It,  But That Is All That I

Do Know About It."

 

"Wordsworth,  Freddy," Carl Corrected Him. "Wordsworth. Henry W.

Wordsworth."

 

"Gee,  Carl,  Thanks. I Thought It Was William."

 

There Was A Burst Of Laughter,  And Then Pudge Explained. "It Is William,

Freddy. Don'T Let Peters Razz You. Just For That,  Carl,  You Tell What

It'S About."

 

"No Soap," Said Carl Decisively.

 

"I Know," Hugh Announced,  Excited And Pleased.

 

"Shoot!"

 

"Well,  It'S This Reincarnation Business. Wordsworth Thought You Lived

Before You Came On To This Earth,  And Everything Was Fine When You Were

A Baby But It Got Worse When You Got Older. That'S About All. It'S Kinda

Bugs,  But I Like Some Of It."

 

"It Isn'T Bugs," Pudge Contradicted Flatly; "It'S Got Sense. You Do Lose

Something As You Grow Older,  But You Gain Something,  Too. Wordsworth

Admits That. It'S A Wonderful Poem,  And You'Re Dumbbells If You Can'T

See It." He Was Very Serious As He Turned The Pages Of The Book And Laid

His Pipe On The Table At His Elbow. "Now Listen. This Stanza Has The

Dope For The Whole Poem." He Read The Famous Stanza Simply And

Effectively:

 

 

 

 

                "Our Birth Is But A Sleep And A Forgetting;

                 The Soul That Rises With Us,  Our Life'S Star,

                   Hath Had Elsewhere Its Setting

                     And Cometh From Afar;

                     Not In entire Forgetfulness,

                     And Not In Utter Nakedness,

                 But Trailing Clouds Of Glory Do We Come

                         From God Who Is Our Home:

                 Heaven Lies About Us In Our Infancy!

                 Shades Of The Prison House Begin To Close

                         Upon The Growing Boy,

Chapter 8 Part 55

                 But He Beholds The Light,  And Whence It Flows,

                         He Sees It In His Joy;

                 The Youth Who Daily Farther From The East

                   Must Travel,  Still Is Nature'S Priest,

                      And By The Vision Splendid

                      Is On His Way Attended;

                 At Length The Man Perceives It Die Away,

                 And Fade Into The Light Of Common Day."

 

 

 

 

There Was A Moment'S Silence When He Finished,  And Then Hugh Said

Reverently: "That Is Beautiful. Read The Last Stanza,  Will You,  Pudge?"

 

So Pudge Read The Last Stanza,  And Then The Boys Got Into An Argument

Over The Possible Truth Of The Thesis Of The Poem. Freddy Finally

Brought Them Back To The Task In Hand With His Plaintive Plea,  "We'Ve

Gotta Get Going." It Was Two O'Clock In The Morning When The Seminar

Broke Up,  Hugh Admitting To Carl After Their Visitors Departed That He

Had Not Only Learned A Lot But That He Had Enjoyed The Evening Heartily.

 

The College Grew Quieter And Quieter As The Day For The Examinations

Approached. There Were Seminars On Everything,  Even On The Best Way To

Prepare Cribs. Certain Students With Low Grades And Less Honor Would

Somehow Gravitate Together And Discuss Plans For "Foxing The Profs."

Opinions Differed. One Man Usually Insisted That Notes In The Palm Of

The Left Hand Were Safe From Detection,  Only To Be Met By The Objection

That They Had To Be Written In Ink,  And If One'S Hand Perspired,  "And It

Was Sure As Hell To," Nothing Was Left But An Inky Smear. Another Held

That A Fellow Could Fasten A Rubber Band On His Forearm And Attach The

Notes To Those,  Pulling Them Down When Needed And Then Letting Them Snap

Back Out Of Sight Into Safety. "But," One Of The Conspirators Was Sure

To Object,  "What Th' Hell Are You Going To Do If The Band Breaks?" Some

Of Them Insisted That Notes Placed In The Inside Of One'S Goloshes--All

The Students Wore Them But Took Them Off In The Examination-Room--Could

Be Easily Read. "Yeah,  But The Proctors Are Wise To That Stunt." And So

_Ad Infinitum_. Eventually All The "Stunts" Were Used And Many More. Not

That All The Students Cheated. Everything Considered,  The Percentage Of

Cheaters Was Not Great,  But Those Who Did Cheat Usually Spent Enough

Time Evolving Ingenious Methods Of Preparing Cribs And In Preparing Them

To Have Learned Their Lessons Honestly And Well.

 

The Night Before The First Examinations The Campus Was Utterly Quiet.

Suddenly Bedlam Broke Loose. Somehow Every Dormitory That Contained

Freshmen Became A Madhouse At The Same Time. Hugh And Carl Were In

Surrey 19 Earnestly Studying. Freddy Dickson Flung The Door Open And

Shouted Hysterically,  "The General Science Exam'S Out!"

 

Hugh And Carl Whirled Around In Their Desk-Chairs.

 

"What?" They Shouted Together.

 

"Yeah! One Of The Fellows Saw It. A Girl That Works At The Press Copied

Down The Exam And Gave It To Him."

 

"What Fellow? Where'S The Exam?"

Chapter 8 Part 56

 

"I Don'T Know Who The Guy Is,  But Hubert Manning Saw The Exam."

 

Hugh And Carl Were Out Of Their Chairs In an Instant,  And The Three Boys

Rushed Out Of Surrey In Search Of Manning. They Found Him In His Room

Telling A Mob Of Excited Classmates That He Hadn'T Seen The Exam But

That Harry Smithson Had. Away Went The Crowd In Search Of Smithson,  Carl

And Hugh And Freddy In The Midst Of The Excited,  Chattering Lads.

Smithson Hadn'T Seen The Exam,  But He Had Heard That Puddy Mccumber Had

A Copy.... Freshmen Were Running Up And Down Stairs In The Dormitories,

Shouting,  "Have You Seen The Exam?" No,  Nobody Had Seen The Exam,  But

Some Of The Boys Had Been Told Definitely What The Questions Were Going

To Be. No Two Seemed To Agree On The Questions,  But Everybody Copied

Them Down And Then Rushed On To Search For A _Bona Fide_ Copy. They

Hurried From Dormitory To Dormitory,  Constantly Shouting The Same

Question,  "Have You Seen The Exam?" There Were Men In every Dormitory

With A New List Of Questions,  Which Were Hastily Scratched Into

Note-Books By The Eager Seekers. Until Midnight The Excitement Raged;

Then The Campus Quieted Down As The Freshmen Began To Study The Long

Lists Of Questions.

 

"God!" Said Carl As He Scanned His List Hopelessly,  "These Damn

Questions Cover Everything In The Course And Some Things That I Know

Damn Well Weren'T In It. What A Lot Of Nuts We Were. Let'S Go To Bed."

 

"Carl," Hugh Wailed Despondently,  "I'M Going To Flunk That Exam. I Can'T

Answer A Tenth Of These Questions. I Can'T Go To Bed; I'Ve Got To Study.

Oh,  Lord!"

 

"Don'T Be A Triple-Plated Jackass. Come On To Bed. You'Ll Just Get Woozy

If You Stay Up Any Longer."

 

"All Right," Hugh Agreed Wearily. He Went To Bed,  But Many Of The Boys

Stayed Up And Studied,  Some Of Them All Night.

 

The Examinations Were Held In The Gymnasium. Hundreds Of Class-Room

Chairs Were Set In even Rows. Nothing Else Was There,  Not Even The

Gymnasium Apparatus. A Few Years Earlier A Wily Student Had Sneaked Into

The Gymnasium The Night Before An Examination And Written His Notes On A

Dumbbell Hanging On The Wall. The Next Day He Calmly Chose The Seat In

Front Of The Dumbbell--And Proceeded To Write A Perfect Examination. The

Annotated Dumbbell Was Found Later,  And After That The Walls Were

Stripped Clean Of Apparatus Before The Examinations Began.

 

At A Few Minutes Before Nine The Entire Freshman Class Was Grouped

Before The Doors Of The Gymnasium,  Nervously Talking,  Some Of Them

Glancing Through Their Notes,  Others Smoking--Some Of Them So Rapidly

That The Cigarettes Seemed To Melt,  Others Walking Up And Down,

Muttering And Mumbling; All Of Them So Excited,  So Tense That They

Hardly Knew What They Were Doing. Hugh Was Trying To Think Of A Dozen

Answers To Questions That Popped Into His Head,  And He Couldn'T Think Of

Anything.

 

Suddenly The Doors Were Thrown Open. Yelling,  Shoving Each Other About,

Fairly Dancing In Their Eagerness And Excitement,  The Freshmen Rushed

Into The Gymnasium. Hugh Broke From The Mob As Quickly As Possible,

Hurried To A Chair,  And Snatched Up A Copy Of The Examination That Was

Lying On Its Broad Arm. At The First Glance He Thought That He Could

Chapter 8 Part 57

Answer All The Questions; A Second Glance Revealed Four That Meant

Nothing To Him. For A Moment He Was Dizzy With Hope And Despair,  And

Then,  All At Once,  He Felt Quite Calm. He Pulled Off His Goloshes And

Prepared To Go To Work.

 

Within Three Minutes The Noise Had Subsided. There Was A Rustling As The

Boys Took Off Their Baa-Baa Coats And Goloshes,  But After That There Was

No Sound Save The Slow Steps Of The Proctors Pacing Up And Down The

Aisle. Once Hugh Looked Up,  Thinking Desperately,  Almost Seizing An Idea

That Floated Nebulous And Necessary Before Him. A Proctor That He Knew

Caught His Eye And Smiled Fatuously. Hugh Did Not Smile Back. He Could

Have Cried In His Fury. The Idea Was Gone Forever.

 

Some Of The Students Began To Write Immediately; Some Of Them Leaned

Back And Stared At The Ceiling; Some Of Them Chewed Their Pencils

Nervously; Some Of Them Leaned Forward Mercilessly Pounding A Knee; Some

Of Them Kept Running One Or Both Hands Through Their Hair; Some Of Them

Wrote A Little And Then Paused To Gaze Blankly Before Them Or To Tap

Their Teeth With A Pen Or Pencil: All Of Them Were Concentrating With An

Intensity That Made The Silence Electric.

 

That Proctor'S Idiotic Smile Had Thrown Hugh'S Thoughts Into What

Seemed Hopeless Confusion,  But A Small Incident Almost Immediately

Brought Order And Relief. The Gymnasium Cat Was Wandering Around The

Rear Of The Gymnasium. It Attracted The Attention Of Several Of The

Students--And Of A Proctor. Being Very Careful Not To Make Any Noise,  He

Picked Up The Cat And Started For The Door. Almost Instantly Every

Student Looked Up; And Then The Stamping Began. Four Hundred Freshmen

Stamped In Rhythm To The Proctor'S Steps. He Hushed Violently,  Tried

Vainly To Look Unconcerned,  And Finally Disappeared Through The Door

With The Cat. Hugh Had Stamped Lustily And Laughed In Great Glee At The

Proctor'S Confusion; Then He Returned To His Work,  Completely At Ease,

His Nervousness Gone.

 

One Hour Passed,  Two Hours. Still The Freshmen Wrote; Still The Proctors

Paced Up And Down. Suddenly A Proctor Paused,  Stared Intently At A Youth

Who Was Leaning Forward In His Chair,  Walked Quickly To Him,  And Picked

Up One Of His Goloshes. The Next Instant He Had A Piece Of Paper In His

Hand And Was,  Walking Down The Gymnasium After Beckoning To The Boy To

Follow Him. The Boy Shoved His Feet Into His Goloshes,  Pulled On His

Baa-Baa Coat,  And,  His Face White And Strained,  Marched Down The Aisle.

The Proctor Heart Of Midlothian,  134

 " Kenilworth,  135

 " The Monastery,  136

 " Old Mortality,  137

 " Peveril Of The Peak,  138

 " The Pirate,  139

 " Quentin Durward,  140

 " Redgauntlet,  141

 " Rob Roy,  142

 " St. Ronan'S Well,  143

 " The Talisman,  144

 " Lives Of The Novelists,  331

 " Poems And Plays,  550,  551

 

 Seebohm'S Oxford Reformers,  665

Chapter 8 Part 58

 

 Seeley'S Ecce Homo,  305

 

 Sewell'S (Anna) Black Beauty,  748

 

 Shakespeare'S Comedies,  153

 " Histories,  Etc.,  154

 " Tragedies,  155

 

 Shelley'S Poetical Works,  257,  258

 

 Shelley'S (Mrs.) Frankenstein,  616

 

 Sheppard'S Charles Auchester,  505

 

 Sheridan'S Plays,  95

 

 Sismondi'S Italian Republics,  250

 

 Smeaton'S Life Of Shakespeare,  514

 

 Smith'S A Dictionary Of Dates,  554

 

 Smith'S Wealth Of Nations,  412,  413

 

 Smith'S (George) Life Of Wm. Carey,  395

 

 Smith'S (Sir Wm.) Smaller Classical Dictionary,  495

 

 Smollett'S Roderick Random,  790

 

 Sophocles,  Young'S,  114

 

 Southey'S Life Of Nelson,  52

 

 Speke'S Source Of The Nile,  50

 

 Spence'S Dictionary Of Non-Classical Mythology,  632

 

 Spencer'S (Herbert) Essays On Education,  504

 

 Spenser'S Faerie Queene,  443,  444

 

 Spinoza'S Ethics,  Etc.,  481

 

 Spyri'S Heidi,  431

 

 Stanley'S Memorials Of Canterbury,  89

 " Eastern Church,  251

 

 Steele'S The Spectator,  164-167

 

 Sterne'S Tristram Shandy,  617

 " Sentimental Journey And Journal To Eliza,  796

 

 Stevenson'S Treasure Island And Kidnapped,  763

 " Master Of Ballantrae And The Black Arrow,  764

 " Virginibus Puerisque And Familiar Studies Of Men And Books,  765

Chapter 8 Pg 59

 " An Inland Voyage,  Travels With A Donkey,  And Silverado Squatters,  766

 " Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde,  The Merry Men,  Etc.,  767

 " Poems,  768

 " In The South Seas And Island Nights' Entertainments,  769

 

 St. Francis,  The Little Flowers Of,  Etc.,  485

 

 Stopford Brooke'S Theology In The English Poets,  493

 

 Stow'S Survey Of London,  589

 

 Stowe'S Uncle Tom'S Cabin,  371

 

 Strickland'S Queen Elizabeth,  100

 

 Swedenborg'S Heaven And Hell,  379

 " Divine Love And Wisdom,  635

 " Divine Providence,  658

 

 Swift'S Gulliver'S Travels,  60

 " Journal To Stella,  757

 " Tale Of A Tub,  Etc.,  347

 

 

 

 

 Tacitus' Annals,  273

 " Agricola And Germania,  274

 

 Taylor'S Words And Places,  517

 

 Tennyson'S Poems,  44,  626

 

 Thackeray'S Esmond,  73

 " Vanity Fair,  298

 " Christmas Books,  359

 " Pendennis,  425,  426

 " Newcomes,  465,  466

 " The Virginians,  507,  508

 " English Humorists,  And The Four Georges,  610

 " Roundabout Papers,  687

 

 Thierry'S Norman Conquest,  198,  199

 

 Thoreau'S Walden,  281

 

 Thucydides' Peloponnesian War,  455

 

 Tolstoy'S Master And Man,  And Other Parables And Tales,  469

 " War And Peace,  525-527

 " Childhood,  Boyhood And Youth,  591

 " Anna Karenina,  612,  613

 

 Trench'S On The Study Of Words And English Past And Present,  788

 

 Trollope'S Barchester Towers,  30

 " Framley Parsonage,  181

Chapter 8 Pg 60

 " Golden Lion Of Granpere,  761

 " The Warden,  182

 " Dr. Thorne,  360

 " Small House At Allington,  361

 " Last Chronicles Of Barset,  391,  392

 

 Trotter'S The Bayard Of India,  396

 " Hodson,  Of Hodson'S Horse,  401

 " Warren Hastings,  452

 

 Turgeniev'S Virgin Soil,  528

 " Liza,  677

 " Fathers And Sons,  742

 

 Tyndall'S Glaciers Of The Alps,  98

 

 Tytler'S Principles Of Translation,  168

 

 

 

 

 Vasari'S Lives Of The Painters,  784-7

 

 Verne'S (Jules) Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea,  319

 " Dropped From The Clouds,  367

 " Abandoned,  368

 " The Secret Of The Island,  369

 " Five Weeks In a Balloon And Around The World In eighty Days,  779

 

 Virgil'S Aeneid,  161

 " Eclogues And Georgics,  222

 

 Voltaire'S Life Of Charles Xii.,  270

 " Age Of Louis Xiv.,  780

 

 

 

 

 Wace And Layamon'S Arthurian Chronicles,  578

 

 Walpole'S Letters,  775

 

 Walton'S Compleat Angler,  70

 

 Waterton'S Wanderings In South America,  772

 

 Wesley'S Journal,  105-108

 

 White'S Selborne,  48

 

 Whitman'S Leaves Of Grass (I.) And Democratic Vistas,  Etc.,  573

 

 Whyte-Melville'S Gladiators,  523

 

 Wood'S (Mrs. Henry) The Channings,  84

 

 Woolman'S Journal,  EtcS Selborne,  48

 

Chapter 8 Pg 61

 Whitman'S Leaves Of Grass (I.) And Democratic Vistas,  Etc.,  573

 

 Whyte-Melvillecy On Him; It Would Mean Everything To

The "Old Lady."

 

For The First Three Nights Of The Rushing Season The Fraternities Held

Open House For All Freshmen,  But During The Last Three Nights No

Freshman Was Supposed To Enter A Fraternity House Unless Invited.

 

The First Three Nights Found The Freshmen Traveling In Scared Groups

From Fraternity House To Fraternity House,  Sticking Close Together

Unless Rather Vigorously Pried Apart By Their Hosts. Everybody Was

Introduced To Everybody Else; Everybody Tried Rather Hopelessly To Make

Conversation,  And Nearly Everybody Smoked Too Much,  Partly Because They

Were Nervous And Partly Because The "Smokes" Were Free.

 

It Was The Last Three Nights That Counted. Both Hugh And Carl Received

Invitations From Most Of The Fraternities,  And They Stuck Together,

Religiously Visiting Them All. Hugh Hoped That They Would "Make" The

Same Fraternity And That That Fraternity Would Be Nu Delta. They Were

Together So Consistently During The Rushing Period That The Story Went

Around The Campus That Carver And Peters Were "Going The Same Way," And

That Carver Had Said That He Wouldn'T Accept A Bid From Any Fraternity

Unless It Asked Peters,  Too.

 

Hugh Heard The Story And Couldn'T Understand It. Everybody Seemed To

Take It For Granted That He Would Be Bid. Why Didn'T They Take It

Equally For Granted That Carl Would Be Bid As Well? He Thought Perhaps

It Was Because He Was An Athlete And Carl Wasn'T; But The Truth Was,  Of

Course,  That The Upper-Classmen Perceived The _Nouveau Riche_ Quality In

Carl Quite As Clearly As He Did Himself. He Knew That His Money And The

Fact That He Had Gone To A Fashionable Prep School Would Bring Him Bids,

But Would They Be From The Right Fraternities? That Was The

All-Important Question.

 

Those Last Three Days Of Rushing Were Nerve-Racking. At Night The

Invited Freshmen--And That Meant About Two Thirds Of The Class--Were At

The Fraternity Houses Until Eleven; Between Classes And During Every

Free Hour They Were Accosted By Earnest Fraternity Men,  Each Presenting

The Superior Merits Of His Fraternity. The Fraternity Men Were Wearier

Than The Freshmen. They Sat Up Until The Small Hours Every Morning

Discussing The Freshmen They Had Entertained The Night Before.

 

Hugh Was In a Daze. Over And Over He Heard The Same Words With Only

Slight Variations. A Fraternity Man Would Slap A Fat Book With An

Excited Hand And Exclaim: "This Is 'Baird'S Manual,' The Final Authority

On Fraternities,  And It'S Got Absolutely All The Dope. You Can See Where

We Stand. Sixty Chapters! You Don'T Join Just This One,  Y' Understand;

You Join All Of 'Em. You'Re Welcome Wherever You Go." Or,  If The Number

Of Chapters Happened To Be Small,  "Baird'S Manual" Was Referred To

Again. "Only Fifteen Chapters,  You See. We Don'T Take In New Chapters

Every Time They Ask. We'Re Darned Careful To Know What We'Re Signing Up

Before We Take Anybody In." The Word "Aristocratic" Was Carefully

Avoided,  But It Was Just As Carefully Suggested.

 

It Seemed To Hugh That He Was Shown A Photograph Of Every Fraternity

House In The Country. "Look," He Would Be Told By His Host,  "Look At

That Picture To The Right Of The Fireplace. That'S Our House At Cornell.

Chapter 8 Pg 62

Isn'T It The Darb? And Look At That One. It'S Our House At California.

Some Palace. They'Ve Got Sunken Gardens. I Was Out There Last Year To

Our Convention. The Boys Certainly Gave Us A Swell Time."

 

All This Through A Haze Of Tobacco Smoke And Over The Noise Of A Jazz

Orchestra And The Chatter Of A Dozen Similar Conversations. Hugh Was

Excited But Not Really Interested. The Nu Deltas Invited Him To Their

House Every Evening,  But They Were Not Making A Great Fuss Over Him.

Perhaps They Weren'T Going To Give Him A Bid.... Well,  He'D Go Some

Other Fraternity. No,  He Wouldn'T,  Either. Maybe The Nu Delta'S Would

Bid Him Later After He'D Done Something On The Track.

 

Although Actual Pledging Was Not Supposed To Be Done Until Saturday

Night,  Hugh Was Receiving What Amounted To Bids All That Day And The

Night Before. Several Times Groups Of Fraternity Men Got Into A Room,

Closed The Door,  And Then Talked To Him Until He Was Almost Literally

Dizzy. He Was Wise Enough Not To Make Any Promises. His Invariable

Answer Was: "I Don'T Know Yet. I Won'T Know Until Saturday Night."

 

Carl Was Having Similar Experiences,  But Neither Of Them Had Been Talked

To By Nu Deltas. The President Of The Chapter,  Merle Douglas,  Had Said

To Hugh In Passing,  "We'Ve Got Our Eye On You,  Carver," And That Was All

That Had Been Said. Carl Did Not Have Even That Much Consolation. But He

Wasn'T So Much Interested In Nu Delta As Hugh Was; Kappa Zeta Or Alpha

Sigma Would Do As Well. Both Of These Fraternities Were Making Violent

Efforts To Get Hugh,  But They Were Paying Only Polite Attention To Carl.

 

On Friday Night Hugh Was Given Some Advice That He Had Good Reason To

Remember In Later Years. At The Moment It Did Not Interest Him A Great

Deal.

 

He Had Gone To The Delta Sigma Delta House,  Not Because He Had The

Slightest Interest In That Fraternity But Because The Nu Deltas Had Not

Urged Him To Remain With Them. The Delta Sigma Deltas Welcomed Him

Enthusiastically And Turned Him Over To Their President,  Malcolm Graham,

A Tall Serious Senior With Sandy Hair And Quiet Brown Eyes.

 

"Will You Come Up-Stairs With Me,  Carver? I Want To Have A Talk With

You," He Said Simply.

 

Hugh Hesitated. He Didn'T Mind Being Talked _To_,  But He Was Heartily

Sick Of Being Talked _At_.

 

Graham Noticed His Hesitation And Smiled. "Don'T Worry; I'M Not Going To

Shanghai You,  And I'M Not Going To Jaw You To Death,  Either."

 

Hugh Smiled In Response. "I'M Glad Of That," He Said Wearily. "I'Ve Been

Jawed Until I Don'T Know Anything."

 

"I Don'T Doubt It. Come On; Let'S Get Away From This Racket." He Took

Hugh By The Arm And Led Him Up-Stairs To His Own Room,  Which Was

Pleasantly Quiet And Restful After The Noise They Had Left.

 

When They Were Both Seated In comfortable Chairs,  Graham Began To Talk.

"I Know That You Are Being Tremendously Rushed,  Carver,  And I Know That

You Are Going To Get A Lot Of Bids,  Too. I'Ve Been Watching You All

Through This Week,  And You Seem Dazed And Confused To Me,  More Confused

Chapter 8 Pg 63

Even Than The Average Freshman. I Think I Know The Reason."

 

"What Is It?" Hugh Demanded Eagerly.

 

"I Understand That Your Father Is A Nu Delt."

 

Hugh Nodded.

 

"And You'Re Afraid That They Aren'T Going To Bid You."

 

Hugh Was Startled. "How Did You Know?" He Never Thought Of Denying The

Statement.

 

"I Guessed It. You Were Obviously Worried; You Visited Other

Fraternities; And You Didn'T Seem To Enjoy The Attention That You Were

Getting. I'Ll Tell You Right Now That You Are Worrying About Nothing;

The Nu Delts Will Bid You. They Are Just Taking You For Granted; That'S

All. You Are A Legacy,  And You Have Accepted All Their Invitations To

Come Around. If You Had Stayed Away One Night,  There Would Have Been A

Whole Delegation Rushing Around The Campus To Hunt You Up."

 

Hugh Relaxed. For The Time Being He Believed Graham Implicitly.

 

"Now," Graham Went On,  "It'S The Nu Delts That I Want To Talk About. Oh,

I'M Not Going To Knock Them," He Hastened To Add As Hugh Eyed Him

Suspiciously. "I Know That You Have Heard Plenty Of Fraternities

Knocking Each Other,  But I Am Sure That You Haven'T Heard Any Knocking

In This House."

 

"No I Haven'T," Hugh Admitted.

 

"Well,  You Aren'T Going To,  Either. The Nu Delts Are Much More Important

Than We Are. They Are Stronger Locally,  And They'Ve Got A Very Powerful

National Organization. But I Don'T Think That You Have A Very Clear

Notion About The Nu Delts Or Us Or Any Other Fraternity. I Heard You

Talking About Fraternities The Other Night,  And,  If You Will Forgive Me

For Being Awfully Frank,  You Were Talking A Lot Of Nonsense."

 

Hugh Leaned Forward Eagerly. He Wasn'T Offended,  And For The First Time

That Week He Didn'T Feel That He Was Being Rushed.

 

"Well,  You Have A Lot Of Sentimental Notions About Fraternities That Are

All Bull; That'S All. You Think That The Brothers Are Really Brothers,

That They Stick By Each Other And All That Sort Of Thing. You Seem To

Think,  Too,  That The Fraternities Are Democratic. They Aren'T,  Or There

Wouldn'T Be Any Fraternities. You Don'T Seem To Realize That

Fraternities Are Among Other Things Political Organizations,  Fighting

Each Other On The Campus For Dear Life. You'Ve Heard Fraternities This

Week Knocking Each Other. Well,  About Nine Tenths Of What'S Been Said Is

Either Lies Or True Of Every Fraternity On The Campus. These

Fraternities Aren'T Working Together For The Good Of Sanford; They'Re

Working Like Hell To Ruin Each Other. You Think That You Are Going To

Like Every Man In The Fraternity You Join. You Won'T. You'Ll Hate Some

Of Them."

 

Hugh Was Aroused And Indignant. "If You Feel That Way About It,  Why Do

Chapter 8 Pg 64

You Stay In a Fraternity?"

 

Graham Smiled Gravely. "Don'T Get Angry,  Please. I Stay Because The

Fraternity Has Its Virtues As Well As Its Faults. I Hated The Fraternity

The First Two Years,  And I'M Afraid That You'Re Going To,  Too. You See,

I Had The Same Sort Of Notions You Have--And It Hurt Like The Devil When

They Were Knocked Into A Cocked Hat. The Fraternity Is A Pleasant Club:

It Gets You Into Campus Activities; And It Gives You A Social Life In

College That You Can'T Get Without It. It Isn'T Very Important To Most

Men After They Graduate. Just Try To Raise Some Money From The Alumni

Some Time,  And You'Ll Find Out. Some Of Them Remain Undergraduates All

Their Lives,  And They Think That The Fraternity Is Important,  But Most

Of Them Hardly Think Of It Except When They Come Back To Reunions.

They'Re More Interested In Their Clubs Or The Masons Or Something Of

That Sort."

 

"My Father Hasn'T Remained An Undergraduate All His Life,  But He'S

Interested In The Nu Delts," Hugh Countered Vigorously.

 

"I Suppose He Is," Graham Tactfully Admitted,  "But You'Ll Find That Most

Men Aren'T. But That Doesn'T Matter. You Aren'T An Alumnus Yet; You'Re A

Freshman,  And A Fraternity Is A Darn Nice Thing To Have Around While You

Are In college.

 

"What I Am Going To Say Now," He Continued,  Hesitating,  "Is Pretty

Touchy,  And I Hope That You Won'T Be Offended. I Have Been Trying To

Impress On You That The Fraternity Is Most Important While You Are In

College,  And,  Believe Me,  It'S Damned Important. A Fellow Has A Hell Of

A Time If He Gets Into The Wrong Fraternity.... I Am Sure That You Are

Going To Get A Lot Of Bids. Don'T Choose Hastily. Spend To-Morrow

Thinking The Various Bunches Over--And Choose The One That Has The

Fellows That You Like Best,  No Matter What Its Standing On The Campus

Is. Be Sure That You Like The Fellows; That Is All-Important. We Want

You To Come To Us. I Think That You Would Fit In Here,  But I Am Not

Going To Urge You. Think Us Over. If You Like Us,  Accept Our Bid; If You

Don'T,  Go Some Fraternity Where You Do Like The Fellows. And That'S My

Warning About The Nu Delts. Be Sure That You Like The Fellows,  Or Most

Of Them,  Anyway,  Before You Accept Their Bid. Have You Thought Them

Over?"

 

"No," Hugh Admitted,  "I Haven'T."

 

He Didn'T Like Graham'S Talk; He Thought That It Was Merely Very Clever

Rushing. He Did Graham An Injustice. Graham Had Been Strongly Attracted

To Hugh And Felt Sure That He Would Be Making A Serious Mistake If He

Joined Nu Delta. Hugh'S Reaction,  However,  Was Natural. He Had Been

Rushed In dozens Of Ingenious Ways For A Week; He Had Little Reason,

Therefore,  To Trust Graham Or Anybody Else.

 

Graham Stood Up. "I Have A Feeling,  Carver," He Said Slowly,  "That I

Have Flubbed This Talk. I Am Sure That You'Ll Know Some Day That I Was

Really Disinterested And Wanted To Do My Best For You."

 

Hugh Was Softened--And Smiled Shyly As He Lifted Himself Out Of His

Chair. "I Know You Did," He Said With More Gratitude In His Voice Than

He Quite Felt,  "And I'M Very Grateful,  But I'M So Woozy Now That I

Don'T Know What To Think."

Chapter 8 Pg 65

 

"I Don'T Wonder. To Tell You The Truth,  I Am,  Too. I Haven'T Got To Bed

Earlier Than Three O'Clock Any Night This Week,  And Right Now I Hardly

Care If We Pledge Anybody To-Morrow Night." He Continued Talking As They

Walked Slowly Down The Stairs. "One More Bit Of Advice. Don'T Go

Anywhere Else To-Night. Go Home To Bed,  And To-Morrow Think Over What

I'Ve Told You. And," He Added,  Holding Out His Hand,  "Even If You Don'T

Come Our Way,  I Hope I See A Lot Of You Before The End Of The Term."

 

Hugh Clasped His Hand. "You Sure Will. Thanks A Lot. Good Night."

 

"Good Night."

 

Hugh Did Go Straight To His Room And Tried To Think,  But The Effort Met

With Little Success. He Wanted Desperately To Receive A Bid From Nu

Delta,  And If He Didn'T--Well,  Nothing Else Much Mattered. Graham'S

Assertion That Nu Delta Would Bid Him No Longer Brought Him Any Comfort.

Why Should Graham Know What Nu Delta Was Going To Do?

 

Shortly After Eleven Carl Came In and Threw Himself Wearily Into A

Chair. For A Few Minutes Neither Boy Said Anything; They Stared Into The

Fire And Frowned. Finally Carl Spoke.

 

"I Can Go Alpha Sig If I Want," He Said Softly.

 

Hugh Looked Up. "Good!" He Exclaimed,  Honestly Pleased. "But I Hope We

Can Both Go Nu Delt. Did They Come Right Out And Bid You?"

 

"Er--No. Not Exactly. It'S Kinda Funny." Carl Obviously Wanted To Tell

Something And Didn'T Know How To Go About It.

 

"What Do You Mean 'Funny'? What Happened?"

 

Carl Shifted Around In His Chair Nervously,  Filled His Pipe,  Lighted It,

And Then Forgot To Smoke.

 

"Well," He Began Slowly,  "Morton--You Know That Alpha Sig,  Clem Morton,

The Senior--Well,  He Got Me Off Into A Corner To-Night And Talked To Me

Quite A While,  Shot Me A Heavy Line Of Dope. At First I Didn'T Get Him

At All. He Was Talking About How They Needed New Living-Room Furniture

And That Sort Of Thing. Finally I Got Him. It'S Like This--Well,  It'S

This Way: They Need Money. Oh,  Hell! Hugh,  Don'T You See? They Want

Money--And They Know I'Ve Got It. All I'Ve Got To Do Is To Let Them Know

That I'Ll Make The Chapter A Present Of A Thousand Or Two After

Initiation--And I Can Be An Alpha Sig."

 

Hugh Was Sitting Tensely Erect And Staring At Carl Dazedly.

 

"You Mean," He Asked Slowly,  "That They Want You To Buy Your Way In?"

 

Carl Gave A Short,  Hard Laugh. "Well,  Nobody Said Anything Vulgar Like

That,  Hugh,  But You'Ve Got The Big Idea."

 

"The Dirty Pups! The Goddamn Stinkers! I Hope You Told Morton To Go

Straight To Hell." Hugh Jumped Up And Stood Over Carl Excitedly.

 

Chapter 8 Pg 66

"Keep Your Shirt On,  Hugh. No,  I Didn'T Tell Him To Go To Hell. I Didn'T

Say Anything,  But I Know That All I'Ve Got To Do To Get An Alpha Sig Bid

To-Morrow Night Is To Let Morton Know That I'D Like To Make The Chapter

A Present. And I'M Not Sure--But I Think Maybe I'Ll Do It."

 

"What!" Hugh Cried. "You Wouldn'T,  Carl! You Know Damn Well You

Wouldn'T." He Was Almost Pleading.

 

"Hey,  Quit Yelling And Sit Down." He Got Up,  Shoved Hugh Back Into His

Chair,  And Then Sat Down Again. "I Want To Make One Of The Big Three;

I'Ve Got To. I Don'T Believe That Either Nu Delt Or Kappa Zete Is Going

To Bid Me. See? This Is My Only Chance--And I Think That I'M Going To

Take It." He Spoke Deliberately,  Staring Pensively Into The Fire.

 

"I Don'T See How You Can Even Think Of Such A Thing," Hugh Said In

Painful Wonderment. "Why,  I'D Rather Never Join A Fraternity Than Buy

Myself Into One."

 

"You Aren'T Me."

 

"No,  I'M Not You. Listen,  Carl." Hugh Turned In His Chair And Faced

Carl,  Who Kept His Eyes On The Dying Fire. "I'M Going To Say Something

Awfully Mean,  But I Hope You Won'T Get Mad.... You Remember You Told

Me Once That You Weren'T A Gentleman. I Didn'T Believe You,  But If You

Buy Yourself Into That--That Bunch Of--Of Gutter-Pups,  I'Ll--I'Ll--Oh,

Hell,  Carl,  I'Ll Have To Believe It." He Was Painfully Embarrassed,  Very

Much In earnest,  And Dreadfully Unhappy.

 

"I Told You That I Wasn'T A Gentleman," Carl Said Sullenly. "Now You

Know It."

 

"I Don'T Know Anything Of The Sort. I'Ll Never Believe That You Could Do

Such A Thing." He Stood Up Again And Leaned Over Carl,  Putting His Hand

On His Shoulder. "Listen,  Carl," He Said Soberly,  Earnestly,  "I Promise

That I Won'T Go Nu Delt Or Any Other Fraternity Unless They Take You,

Too,  If You'Ll Promise Me Not To Go Alpha Sig."

 

Carl Looked Up Wonderingly. "What!" He Exclaimed. "You'Ll Turn Down Nu

Delt If They Don'T Bid Me,  Too?"

 

"Yes,  Nu Delt Or Kappa Zete Or Any Other Bunch. Promise Me," He Urged;

"Promise Me."

 

Carl Understood The Magnitude Of The Sacrifice Offered,  And His Eyes

Became Dangerously Soft. "God! You'Re White,  Hugh," He Whispered

Huskily,  "White As Hell. You Go Nu Delt If They Ask You--But I Promise

You That I Won'T Go Alpha Sig Even If They Bid Me Without Pay." He Held

Out His Hand,  And Hugh Gripped It Hard. "I Promise," He Repeated,  "On My

Word Of Honor."

 

At Seven O'Clock Saturday Evening Every Freshman Who Had Any Reason At

All To Think That He Would Get A Bid--And Some That Had No

Reason--Collected In Nervous Groups In The Living-Room Of The Union. At

The Stroke Of Seven They Were Permitted To Move Up To A Long Row Of

Chapter 8 Pg 67

Tables Which Were Covered With Large Envelopes,  One For Every Freshman.

They Were Arranged In alphabetical Order,  And In an Incredibly Short

Time Each Man Found The One Addressed To Him. Some Of The Envelopes Were

Stuffed With Cards,  Each Containing The Freshman'S Name And The Name Of

The Fraternity Bidding Him; Some Of Them Contained Only One Or Two

Cards--And Some Of Them Were Empty. The Boys Who Drew Empty Envelopes

Instantly Left The Union Without A Word To Anybody; The Others Tried To

Find A Free Space Where They Could Scan Their Cards Unobserved. They

Were All Wildly Excited And Nervous. One Glance At The Cards,  And Their

Faces Either Lighted With Joy Or Went White With Disappointment.

 

Hugh Found Ten Cards In His Envelope--And One Of Them Had Nu Delta

Written On It. His Heart Leaped; For A Moment He Thought That He Was

Going To Cry. Then He Rushed Around The Union Looking For Carl. He Found

Him Staring At A Fan Of Cards,  Which He Was Holding Like A Hand Of

Bridge.

 

"What Luck?" Hugh Cried.

 

Carl Handed Him The Cards. "Lamp Those," He Said,  "And Then Explain.

They'Ve Got Me Stopped."

 

He Had Thirteen Bids,  One From Every Fraternity In Good Standing,

Including The So-Called Big Three.

 

When Hugh Saw The Nu Delta Card He Yelled With Delight.

 

"I Got A Nu Delt,  Too." His Voice Was Trembling With Excitement. "You'Ll

Go With Me,  Won'T You?"

 

"Of Course,  Hugh. But I Don'T Understand."

 

"Oh,  What'S The Dif? Let'S Go."

 

He Tucked His Arm In carl'S,  And The Two Of Them Passed Out Of The Union

On Their Way To The Nu Delta House. Later Both Of Them Understood.

 

Carl'S Good Looks,  His Excellent Clothes,  His Money,  And The Fact That

He Had Been To An Expensive Preparatory School Were Enough To Insure Him

Plenty Of Bids Even If He Had Been Considerably Less Of A Gentleman Than

He Was.

 

Already The Campus Was Ringing With Shouts As Freshmen Entered

Fraternity Houses,  Each Freshman Being Required To Report At Once To The

Fraternity Whose Bid He Was Accepting.

 

When Carl And Hugh Walked Up The Nu Delta Steps,  They Were Seized By

Waiting Upper-Classmen And Rushed Into The Living-Room,  Where They Were

Received With Loud Cheers,  Slapped On The Back,  And Passed Around The

Room,  Each Upper-Classman Shaking Hands With Them So Vigorously That

Their Hands Hurt For An Hour Afterward. What Pleasant Pain! Each New

Arrival Was Similarly Received,  But The Excitement Did Not Last Long.

Both The Freshmen And The Upper-Classmen Were Too Tired To Keep The

Enthusiasm At The Proper Pitch. At Nine O'Clock The Freshmen Were Sent

Home With Orders To Report The Next Evening At Eight.

 

Carl And Hugh,  Proudly Conscious Of The Pledge Buttons In The Lapels Of

Their Coats,  Walked Slowly Across The Campus,  Spent And Weary,  But

Chapter 8 Pg 68

Exquisitely Happy.

 

"They Bid Me On Account Of You," Carl Said Softly. "They Didn'T Think

They Could Get You Unless They Asked Me,  Too."

 

"No," Hugh Replied,  "You'Re Wrong. They Took You For Yourself. They Knew

You Would Go Where I Did,  And They Were Sure That I Would Go Their Way."

 

Hugh Was Quite Right. The Nu Deltas Had Felt Sure Of Both Of Them And

Had Not Rushed Them Harder Because They Were Too Busy To Waste Any Time

On Certainties.

 

Carl Stopped Suddenly. "God,  Hugh," He Exclaimed. "Just Suppose I Had

Offered The Alpha Sigs That Cash. God!"

 

"Aren'T You Glad You Didn'T?" Hugh Asked Happily.

 

"Glad? Glad? Boy,  I'M Bug-House. And," He Added Softly,  "I Know The Lad

I'Ve Got To Thank."

 

"Aw,  Go To Hell."

 

 

The Initiation Season Lasted Two Weeks,  And The Neophytes Found That The

Dormitory Initiations Had Been Merely Child'S Play. They Had To Account

For Every Hour,  And Except For A Brief Time Allowed Every Day For

Studying,  They Were Kept Busy Making Asses Of Themselves For The

Delectation Of The Upper-Classmen.

 

In The Nu Delta House A Freshman Had To Be On Guard Every Hour Of The

Day Up To Midnight. He Was Forced To Dress Himself In Some Outlandish

Costume,  The More Outlandish The Better,  And Announce Every One Who

Entered Or Left The House. "Mr. Standish Entering," He Would Bawl,  Or,

"Mr. Kerwin Leaving." If He Bawled Too Loudly,  He Was Paddled; If He

Didn'T Bawl Loudly Enough,  He Was Paddled; And If There Was No Fault To

Be Found With His Bawling; He Was Paddled Anyway. Every Freshman Had To

Supply His Own Paddle,  A Broad,  Stout Oak Affair Sold At The Cooperative

Store At A Handsome Profit.

 

If A Freshman Reported For Duty One Minute Late,  He Was Paddled; If He

Reported One Minute Early,  He Was Paddled. There Was No End To The

Paddling. "Assume The Angle," An Upper-Classman Would Roar. The

Unfortunate Freshman Then Humbly Bent Forward,  Gripped His Ankles With

His Hands--And Waited. The Worst Always Happened. The Upper-Classman

Brought The Paddle Down With A Resounding Whack On The Seat Of The

Freshman'S Trousers.

 

"Does It Hurt?"

 

"Yes,  Sir."

 

Another Resounding Whack. "_What?_"

 

"No--No,  Sir."

 

"Oh,  Well,  If It Doesn'T Hurt,  I Might As Well Give You Another One."

And He Gave Him Another One.

Chapter 8 Pg 69

A Freshman Was Paddled If He Forgot To Say "Sir" To An Upper-Classman;

He Was Paddled If He Neglected To Touch The Floor With His Fingers Every

Time He Passed Through A Door In The Fraternity House; He Was Paddled If

He Laughed When An Upper-Classman Told A Joke,  And He Was Paddled If He

Didn'T Laugh; He Was Paddled If He Failed To Return From An Errand In an

Inconceivably Short Time: He Was Paddled For Every And No Reason,  But

Mainly Because The Upper-Classmen,  The Sophomores Particularly,  Got

Boundless Delight Out Of Doing The Paddling.

 

Every Night A Freshman Stood On The Roof Of The Nu Delta House And

Announced The Time Every Fifteen Seconds. "One Minute And Fifteen

Seconds After Nine,  And All'S Well In The Halls Of Nu Delta; One Minute

And Thirty Seconds After Nine,  And All'S Well In The Halls Of Nu Delta;

One Minute And Forty-Five Seconds After Nine,  And All'S Well In The

Halls Of Nu Delta," And So On For An Hour. Then He Was Relieved By

Another Freshman,  Who Took Up The Chant.

 

Nightly The Freshmen Had To Entertain The Upper-Classmen,  And If The

Entertainment Wasn'T Satisfactory,  As It Never Was,  The Entertainers

Were Paddled. They Had To Run Races,  Shoving Pennies Across The Floor

With Their Noses. The Winner Was Paddled For Going Too Fast--"Didn'T He

Have Any Sense Of Sportsmanship?"--And The Loser Was Paddled For Going

Too Slow. Most Of The Freshmen Lost Skin Off Their Noses And Foreheads;

All Of Them Shivered At The Sight Of A Paddle. By The End Of The First

Week They Were Whispering To Each Other How Many Blisters They Had On

Their Buttocks.

 

It Was A Bitterly Cold Night In Late February When The Nu Deltas Took

The Freshmen For Their "Walk." They Drove In automobiles Fifteen Miles

Into The Country And Then Left The Freshmen To Walk Back. It Was Four

O'Clock In The Morning When The Miserable Freshmen Reached The Campus,

Half Frozen,  Unutterably Weary,  But Thankful That The End Of The

Initiation Was At Hand.

 

Hugh Was Thankful For Another Thing; The Nu Deltas Did Not Brand. He Had

Noticed Several Men In The Swimming-Pool With Tiny Greek Letters Branded

On Their Chests Or Thighs. The Branded Ones Seemed Proud Of Their

Permanent Insignia,  But The Idea Of A Fraternity Branding Its Members

Like Beef-Cattle Was Repugnant To Hugh. He Told Carl That He Was Darn

Glad The Nu Deltas Were Above That Sort Of Thing,  And,  Surprisingly,

Carl Agreed With Him.

 

The Next Night They Were Formally Initiated. The Nu Delta House Seemed

Strangely Quiet; Levity Was Strictly Prohibited. The Freshmen Were Given

White Robes Such As The Upper-Classmen Were Wearing,  The President

Excepted,  Who Wore A Really Handsome Robe Of Blue And Silver.

 

Then They Marched Up-Stairs To The "Goat Room." Once There,  The

President Mounted A Dais; A "Brother" Stood On Each Side Of Him. Hugh

Was So Much Impressed By The Ritual,  The Black Hangings Of The Room,  The

Fraternity Seal Over The Dais,  The Ornate Chandelier,  The Long Speeches

Of The President And His Assistants,  That He Failed To Notice That Many

Of The Brothers Were Openly Bored.

 

Eventually Each Freshman Was Led Forward By An Upper-Classman. He Knelt

On The Lowest Step Of The Dais And Repeated After The President The Oath

Chapter 8 Pg 70

Of Allegiance. Then One Of The Assisting Brothers Whispered To Him The

Password And Taught Him The "Grip," A Secret And Elaborate Method Of

Shaking Hands,  While The Other Pinned The Jeweled Pin To His Vest.

 

When Each Freshman Had Been Received Into The Fraternity,  The Entire

Chapter Marched In Twos Down-Stairs,  Singing The Fraternity Song. The

Initiation Was Over; Carl And Hugh Were Nu Delts.

 

The Whole Ceremony Had Moved Hugh Deeply,  So Deeply That He Had Hardly

Been Able To Repeat The Oath After The President. He Thought The Ritual

Very Beautiful,  More Beautiful Even Than The Easter Service At Church.

He Left The Nu Delta House That Night Feeling A Deeper Loyalty For The

Fraternity Than He Had Words To Express. He And Carl Walked Back To

Surrey 19 In Silence. Neither Was Capable Of Speech,  Though Both Of Them

Wanted To Give Expression To Their Emotion In Some Way. They Reached

Their Room.

 

"Well," Said Hugh Shyly,  "I Guess I'Ll Go To Bed."

 

"Me,  Too." Then Carl Moved Hesitatingly To Where Hugh Was Standing. He

Held Out His Hand And Grinned,  But His Eyes Were Serious.

 

"Good Night--Brother."

 

Their Hands Met In The Sacred Grip.

 

"Good Night--Brother."

 

Chapter 9 Pg 71

 

 

To Hugh The Remainder Of The Term Was Simply A Fight To Get An

Opportunity To Study. The Old Saying,  "If Study Interferes With College,

Cut Out Study," Did Not Appeal To Him. He Honestly Wanted To Do Good

Work,  But He Found That The Chance To Do It Was Rare. Some One Always

Seemed To Be In His Room Eager To Talk; There Was The Fraternity Meeting

To Attend Every Monday Night; Early In The Term There Was At Least One

Hockey Or Basketball Game A Week; Later There Were Track Meets,  Baseball

Games,  And Tennis Matches; He Had To Attend Glee Club Rehearsals Twice A

Week; He Ran Every Afternoon Either In The Gymnasium Or On The Cinder

Path; Some One Always Seduced Him Into Going To The Movies; He Was

Constantly Being Drawn Into Bull Sessions; There Was An Occasional

Concert: And Besides All These Distractions,  There Was A Fraternity

Dance,  The Excitement Of Prom,  A Trip To Three Cities With The Glee

Club,  And Finally A Week'S Vacation At Home At Easter.

 

Worst Of All,  None Of His Instructors Was Inspiring. He Had Been

Assigned To A New Section In Latin,  And In Losing Alling He Lost The One

Really Enjoyable Teacher He Had Had. The Others Were Conscientious,

More Or Less Competent,  But There Was Little Enthusiasm In Their

Teaching,  Nothing To Make A Freshman Eager Either To Attend Their

Chapter 9 Pg 72

Classes Or To Study The Lessons They Assigned. They Did Not Make The

Acquiring Of Knowledge A Thrilling Experience; They Made It A Duty--And

Hugh Found That Duty Exceedingly Irksome.

 

He Attended Neither The Fraternity Dance Nor The Prom. He Had Looked

Forward Enthusiastically To The "House Dance," But After He Had,  Along

With The Other Men In His Delegation,  Cleaned The House From Garret To

Basement,  He Suddenly Took To His Bed With Grippe. He Groaned With

Despair When Carl Gave Him Glowing Accounts Of The Dance And The

"Janes." Carl For Once,  However,  Was Circumspect; He Did Not Tell Hugh

All That Happened. He Would Have Been Hard Put To Explain His Own

Reticence,  But Although He Thought "The Jane Who Got Pie-Eyed" Had Been

Enormously Funny,  He Decided Not To Tell Hugh About Her Or The Pie-Eyed

Brothers.

 

No Freshman Was Allowed To Attend The Prom,  But Along With The Other Men

Who Weren'T "Dragging Women" Hugh Walked The Streets And Watched The

Girls. There Was A Tea-Dance At The Fraternity House During Prom Week.

Hugh Said That He Got A Great Kick Out Of It,  But,  As A Matter Of Fact,

He Remained Only A Short Time; There Was A Hectic Quality To Both The

Girls And The Talk That Confused Him. For Some Reason He Didn'T Like The

Atmosphere; And He Didn'T Know Why. His Excuse To The Brothers And To

Himself For Leaving Early Was That He Was In Training And Not Supposed

To Dance.

 

Track Above All Things Was Absorbing His Interest. He Could Hardly Think

Of Anything Else. He Lay Awake Nights Dreaming Of The Race He Would Run

Against Raleigh. Sanford Had Three Dual Track Meets A Year,  But The

First Two Were With Small Colleges And Considered Of Little Importance.

Only A Point Winner In The Raleigh Meet Was Granted His Letter.

 

Hugh Won The Hundred In The Sophomore-Freshman Meet And In a Meet With

The Raleigh Freshmen,  So That He Was Given His Class Numerals. He Did

Nothing,  However,  In The Raleigh Meet; He Was Much Too Nervous To Run

Well,  Breaking Three Times At The Mark. He Was Set Back Two Yards And

Was Never Able To Regain Them. For A Time He Was Bitterly Despondent,

But He Soon Cheered Up When He Thought Of The Three Years Ahead Of Him.

 

Spring Brought First Rain And Slush And Then The "Sings." There Was A

Fine Stretch Of Lawn In The Center Of The Campus,  And On Clear Nights

The Students Gathered There For A Sing,  One Class On Each Side Of The

Lawn. First The Seniors Sang A College Song,  Then The Juniors,  Then The

Sophomores,  And Then The Freshmen. After Each Song,  The Other Classes

Cheered The Singers,  Except When The Sophomores And Freshmen Sang: They

Always "Razzed" Each Other. Hugh Led The Freshmen,  And He Never Failed

To Get A Thrill Out Of Singing A Clear Note And Hearing His Classmates

Take It Up.

 

After Each Class Had Sung Three Or Four Songs,  The Boys Gathered In The

Center Of The Lawn,  Sang The College Hymn,  Gave A Cheer,  And The Sing

Was Over.

 

On Such Nights,  However,  The Singing Really Continued For Hours. The

Glee Club Often Sang From The Union Steps; Groups Of Boys Wandered Arm

In Arm Around The Campus Singing; On Every Fraternity Steps There Were

Youths Strumming Banjos And Others "Harmonizing": Here,  There,

Everywhere Young Voices Were Lifted In Song--Not Joyous Nor Jazzy But

Plaintive And Sentimental. Adeline'S Sweetness Was Extolled By Unsure

Chapter 9 Pg 73

Barytones And "Whisky" Tenors; And The Charms Of Rosie O'Grady Were

Chanted In "Close Harmony" In every Corner Of The Campus:

 

 

 

 

                "Sweet Rosie O'Grady,

                 She'S My Pretty Rose;

                 She'S My Pretty Lady,

                 As Every One Knows.

                 And When We Are Married,

                 Oh,  How Happy We'Ll Be,

                 For I Love Sweet Rosie O'Grady

                 And Rosie O'Grady Loves Me."

 

 

 

 

Hugh Loved Those Nights: The Shadows Of The Elms,  The Soft Spring

Moonlight,  The Twanging Banjos,  The Happy Singing. He Would Never,  So

Long As He Lived,  Hear "Rosie O'Grady" Without Surrendering To A Tender,

Sentimental Mood; That Song Would Always Mean The Campus And Singing

Youth.

 

Suddenly Examinations Threw Their Baleful Influence Over The Campus

Again. Once More The Excitement,  But Not So Great This Time,  The

Cramming,  The Rumors Of Examinations "Getting Out," The Seminars,  The

Tutoring Sections,  The Nervousness,  The Fear.

 

Hugh,  However,  Was Surer Of Himself Than He Had Been The First Term,  And

Although He Had No Reason To Be Proud Of The Grades He Received,  He Was

Not Particularly Ashamed Of Them.

 

He And Carl Left The Same Day But By Different Trains. They Had Agreed

To Room Together Again In Surrey 19; So They Didn'T Feel That The

Parting For The Summer Was Very Important.

 

"You'Ll Write,  Won'T You,  Old Man?"

 

"Sure,  Hugh--Surest Thing You Know. Say,  It Don'T Seem Possible That Our

Freshman Year'S Over Already. Why,  Hell,  Hugh,  We'Re Sophomores."

 

"So We Are! What Do You Know About That?" Hugh'S Eyes Shone. "Gosh!"

 

Carl Looked At His Watch. "Hell,  I'Ve Got To Beat It." He Picked Up His

Suit-Case,  Dropped It,  Shook Hands Vigorously With Hugh,  Snatched Up His

Suit-Case,  And Was Off With A Final,  "Good-By,  Hugh,  Old Boy," Sounding

Behind Him.

 

Hugh Settled Back Into A Chair. He Had Half An Hour To Wait.

 

"A Sophomore.... Gosh!"

 

Chapter 10 Pg 74

 

Hugh Spent The Summer At Home,  Working On The Farm,  Reading A Little,

And Occasionally Visiting A Lake Summer Resort A Few Miles Away. Helen

Had Left Merrytown To Attend A Secretarial School In a Neighboring City,

And Hugh Was Genuinely Glad To Find Her Gone When He Returned From

College. Helen Was Becoming Not Only A Bore But A Problem. Besides,  He

Met A Girl At Corley Lake,  The Summer Resort,  Whom He Found Much More

Fascinating. For A Month Or Two He Thought That He Was In Love With

Janet Harton. Night After Night He Drove To Corley Lake In His Father'S

Car,  Sometimes Dancing With Janet In The Pavilion,  Sometimes Canoeing

With Her On The Lake,  Sometimes Taking Her For Long Rides In The Car,

But Often Merely Wandering Through The Pines With Her Or Sitting On The

Shore Of The Lake And Staring At The Rippling Water.

 

Janet Was Small And Delicate; She Seemed Almost Fragile. She Did

Everything Daintily--Like A Little Girl Playing Tea-Party. Her Hands And

Feet Were Exquisitely Small,  Her Features Childlike And Indefinite,

Except Her Little Coral Mouth,  Which Was As Clearly Outlined With Color

As A Doll'S And As Mobile As A Fluttering Leaf. She Had Wide Blue Eyes

And Hair That Was Truly Golden. Strangely,  She Had Not Bobbed It But

Wore It Bound Into A Shining Coil Around Her Head.

 

Hugh Wrote A Poem To Her. It Began Thus:

 

 

 

 

                Maiden With The Clear Blue Eyes,

                Lady With The Golden Hair,

                Exquisite Child,  Serenely Wise,

                Sweetly Tender,  Morning Fair.

 

 

 

 

He Wasn'T Sure That It Was A Very Good Poem; There Was Something

Reminiscent About The First Line,  And He Was Dubious About "Morning

Fair." He Had,  However,  Studied German For A Year In High School,  And He

Guessed That If _Morgenschoen_ Was All Right In German It Was All Right

In English,  Too.

 

They Rarely Talked. Hugh Was Content To Sit For Hours With The Delicate

Child Nestling In His Arm,  Her Hand Lying Passive And Cool In His. She

Made Him Feel Very Strong And Protective. Nights,  He Dreamed Of Doing

Brave Deeds For Her,  Of Saving Her From Terrible Dangers. At First Her

Vague,  Fleeting Kisses Thrilled Him,  But As The Weeks Went By And His

Passion Grew,  He Found Them Strangely Unsatisfying.

 

When She Cuddled Her Lovely Head In The Hollow Of His Shoulder,  He

Chapter 10 Pg 75

cWith Laughter As One Of Them Told Of A Summer Experience That Struck

Them As Funny. They Were Both So Glad To Get Back To College,  So Glad To

See Each Other,  That They Were Almost Hysterical. And When They Left

Surrey 19 Arm In arm On Their Way To The Nu Delta House "To See The

Brothers," Their Cup Of Bliss Was Full To The Brim And Running Over.

 

"Criminy,  The Ol' Campus Sure Does Look Good," Said Hugh Ecstatically.

"Watch The Frosh Work." He Was Suddenly Reminded Of Something. "Hey,

Freshman!" He Yelled At A Big,  Red-Faced Youngster Who Was To Be

Full-Back On The Football Team A Year Hence.

 

The Freshman Came On A Run. "Yes--Yes,  Sir?"

 

"Here'S A Check. Take It Down To The Station And Get My Suit-Case. Take

It Up To Surrey Nineteen And Put It In The Room. The Door'S Open. Hurry

Up Now; I'M Going To Want It Pretty Soon."

 

"Yes,  Sir. I'Ll Hurry." And The Freshman Was Off Running.

 

Hugh And Carl Grinned At Each Other,  Linked Arms Again,  And Continued

Their Way Across The Campus. When They Entered The Nu Delta House A

Shout Went Up. "Hi,  Carl! Hi,  Hugh! Glad To See You Back. Didya Have A

Good Summer? Put It There,  Ol' Kid"--And They Shook Hands,  Gripping Each

Other'S Forearm At The Same Time.

 

Hugh Tried Hard To Become A Typical Sophomore And Failed Rather Badly.

He Retained Much Of The Shyness And Diffidence That Gives The Freshman

His Charm,  And He Did Not Succeed Very Well In acquiring The Swagger,

The Cocky,  Patronizing Manner,  The Raucous Self-Assurance That

Characterize The True Sophomore.

 

He Found,  Too,  That He Couldn'T Lord It Over The Freshmen Very Well,  And

At Times He Was Nothing Less Than A Renegade To His Class. He Was

Constantly Giving Freshmen Correct Information About Their Problems,  And

During The Dormitory Initiations He More Than Once Publicly Objected To

Some "Stunt" That Seemed To Him Needlessly Insulting To The Initiates.

Because He Was An Athlete,  His Opinion Was Respected,  And Quite

Unintentionally He Won Several Good Friends Among The Freshmen. His

Objections Had All Been Spontaneous,  And He Was Rather Sorry About Them

Afterward. He Felt That He Must Be Soft,  That He Ought To Be Able To

Stand Anything That Anybody Else Could. Further,  He Felt That There

Must Be Something Wrong With His Sense Of Humor; Things That Struck Lots

Of His Classmates As Funny Seemed Merely Disgusting To Him.

 

He Wanted Very Much To Tell Carl About Janet,  But For Several Weeks The

Opportunity Did Not Present Itself. There Was Too Much Excitement About

The Campus; The Mood Of The Place Was All Wrong,  And Hugh,  Although He

Didn'T Know It,  Was Very Sensitive To Moods And Atmosphere.

 

Finally One Night In October He And Carl Were Seated In Their Big Chairs

Before The Fire. They Had Been Walking That Afternoon,  And Hugh Had Been

Swept Outside Of Himself By The Brilliance Of The Autumn Foliage. He Was

Emotionally And Physically Tired,  Feeling That Vague,  Melancholy

Happiness That Comes After An Intense But Pleasant Experience. Carl

Leaned Back To The Center-Table And Switched Off The Study Light.

 

Chapter 10 Pg 76

"Pleasanter With Just The Firelight," He Said Quietly. He,  Too,  Had

Something That He Wanted To Tell,  And The Less Light The Better.

 

Hugh Sighed And Relaxed Comfortably Into His Chair. The Shadows Were

Thick And Mysterious Behind Them; The Flames Leaped Merrily In The

Fireplace. Both Boys Sat Silent,  Staring Into The Fire.

 

Finally Hugh Spoke.

 

"I Met A Girt This Summer,  Carl," He Said Softly.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah. Little Peach. Awf'Lly Pretty. Dainty,  You Know. Awf'Lly

Dainty--Like A Little Kid. You Know."

 

Carl Had Slumped Down Into His Chair. He Was Smoking His Pipe And

Staring Pensively At The Flames. "Un-Huh. Go On."

 

"Well,  I Fell Pretty Hard. She Was So--Er,  Dainty. She Always Reminded

Me Of A Little Girl Playing Lady. She Had Golden Hair And Blue Eyes,  The

Bluest Eyes I'Ve Ever Seen; Oh,  Lots Bluer Than Mine,  Lots Bluer. And

Little Bits Of Hands And Feet."

 

Carl Continued To Puff His Pipe And Stare At The Fire. "Pet?" He Asked

Dreamily.

 

"Uh-Huh. Yeah,  She Petted--But She Was Kinda Funny--Cold,  You Know,  And

Kinda Scared. Gee,  Carl,  I Was Crazy About Her. I--I Even Wrote Her A

Poem. I Guess It Wasn'T Very Good,  But I Don'T Think She Knew What It

Was About. I Guess I'M Off Her Now,  Though. She'S Too Cold. I Don'T Want

A Girl To Fall Over Me--My Last Girl Did That--But,  Golly,  Carl,  Janet

Didn'T Understand. I Don'T Think She Knows Anything About Love."

 

"Some Of 'Em Don'T," Carl Remarked Philosophically,  Slipping Deeper Into

His Chair. "They Just Pet."

 

"That'S The Way She Was. She Liked Me To Hold Her And Kiss Her Just As

Long As I Acted Like A Big Brother,  But,  Criminy,  When I Felt That Soft

Little Thing In My Arms,  I Didn'T Feel Like A Big Brother; I Loved Her

Like Hell.... She Was Awfully Sweet," He Added Regretfully; "I Wish She

Wasn'T So Cold."

 

"Hard Luck,  Old Man," Said Carl Consolingly,  "Hard Luck. Guess You

Picked An Iceberg."

 

For A Few Minutes The Room Was Quiet Except For The Crackling Of The

Fire,  Which Was Beginning To Burn Low. The Shadows Were Creeping Up On

The Boys; The Flames Were Less Merry.

 

Carl Took His Pipe Out Of His Mouth And Drawled Softly,  "I Had Better

Luck."

 

Hugh Pricked Up His Ears. "You Haven'T Really Fallen In Love,  Have You?"

He Demanded Eagerly. Carl Had Often Said That He Would Never Fall In

Love,  That He Was "Too Wise" To Women.

Chapter 10 Pg 77

 

"No,  I Didn'T Fall In Love; Nothing Like That. I Met A Bunch Of Janes

Down At Bar Harbor. Some Of Them I'D Known Before,  But I Met Some New

Ones,  Too. Had A Damn Good Time. Some Of Those Janes Certainly Could

Neck,  And They Were Ready For It Any Time. Gee,  If The Old Lady Hadn'T

Been There,  I'D A Been Potted About Half The Time. As It Was,  I Drank

Enough Gin And Scotch To Float A Battle-Ship. Well,  The Old Lady Had To

Go To New York On Account Of Some Business; So I Went Down To Christmas

Cove To Visit Some People I Know There. Christmas Cove'S A Nice Place;

Not So High-Hat As Bar Harbor,  But Still It'S A Nice Place."

 

Hugh Felt That Carl Was Leaving The Main Track,  And He Hastened To

Shunt Him Back. "Sure," He Said In cheerful Agreement; "Sure It Is--But

What Happened?"

 

"What Happened? Oh--Oh,  Yes!" Carl Brought Himself Back To The Present

With An Obvious Effort. "Sure,  I'Ll Tell You What Happened. Well,  There

Was A Girl There Named Elaine Marston. She Wasn'T Staying With The Folks

I Was,  But They Knew Her,  So I Saw A Lot Of Her. See?"

 

"Sure." Hugh Wished He Would Hurry Up. Carl Didn'T Usually Wander All

Over When Telling A Story. This Must Be Something Special.

 

"Well,  I Saw Lots Of Her. Lots. Pretty Girl,  Nice Family And Everything,

But She Liked Her Booze And She Liked To Pet. Awful Hot Kid. Well,  One

Night We Went To A Dance,  And Between Dances We Had A Lot Of Gin I Had

Brought With Me. Good Stuff,  Too. I Bought It Off A Guy Who Brought It

Down From Canada Himself. Where Was I? Oh,  Yes,  At The Dance. We Both

Got Pie-Eyed; I Was All Liquored Up,  And I Guess She Was,  Too. After The

Dance Was Over,  I Dared Her To Walk Over To South Bristol--That'S Just

Across The Island,  You Know--And Then Walk Back Again. Well,  We Hadn'T

Gone Far When We Decided To Sit Down. We Were Both Kinda Dizzy From The

Gin. You Have To Go Through The Woods,  You Know,  And It'S Dark As Hell

In There At Night.... We Sat Down Among Some Ferns And I Began To Pet

Her. Don'T Know Why--Just Did.... Oh,  Hell! What'S The Use Of Going

Into Details? You Can Guess What Happened."

 

Hugh Sat Suddenly Erect. "You Didn'T--"

 

Carl Stood Up And Stretched. "Yeah," He Yawned,  "I Did It. Lots Of Times

Afterwards."

 

Hugh Was Dazed. He Didn'T Know What To Think. For An Instant He Was

Shocked,  And Then He Was Envious. "Wonder If Janet Would Have Gone The

Whole Way," Flitted Across His Mind. He Instantly Dismissed The

Question; He Felt That It Wasn'T Fair To Janet. But Carl? Gosh!

 

Carl Yawned Again. "Great Stuff," He Said Nonchalantly. "Sleepy As Hell.

Guess I'Ll Hit The Hay." He Eyed Hugh Suspiciously. "You Aren'T Shocked,

Are You? You Don'T Think I'M A Moral Leper Or Anything Like That?" He

Attempted To Be Light But Wasn'T Altogether Successful.

 

"Of Course Not." Hugh Denied The Suggestion Vehemently,  And Yet Down In

His Heart He Felt A Keen Disappointment. He Hardly Knew Why He Was

Disappointed,  But He Was. "Going To Bed?" He Asked As Casually As He

Could.

Chapter 10 Pg 78

 

"Yeah. Good Night."

 

"Good Night,  Old Man."

 

Each Boy Went To His Own Bedroom,  Hugh To Go To Bed And Think Carl'S

Story Over. It Thrilled Him,  And He Envied Carl,  And Yet--And Yet He

Wished Carl Hadn'T Done It. It Made Him And Carl Different--Sorta Not

The Same; No That Wasn'T It. He Didn'T Know Just What The Trouble Was,

But There Was A Sharp Sting Of Disillusionment That Hurt. He Would Have

Been More Confused Had He Known What Was Happening In carl'S Room.

 

Carl Had Walked Into His Own Bedroom,  Lighted The Light,  And Closed The

Door. Then He Walked To The Dresser And Stared At Himself In The Mirror,

Stared A Long Time As If The Face Were Somehow New To Him.

 

There Was A Picture Of The "Old Lady" On The Dresser. It Caught His Eye,

And He Flinched. It Seemed To Look At Him Reproachfully. He Thought Of

His Mother,  And He Thought Of How He Had Bluffed Hugh. He Had Cried

After His First Experience With The Girl.

 

He Looked Again Into The Mirror. "You Goddamn Hypocrite," He Said

Softly; "You Goddamn Hypocrite." His Lip Curled In contempt At His

Image.

 

He Began To Undress Rapidly. The Eyes Of The "Old Lady" In The Picture

Seemed To Follow Him Around The Room. The Thought Of Her Haunted Him.

Desperately,  He Switched Out The Light.

 

Once In bed,  He Rolled Over On His Stomach And Buried His Face In The

Pillow. "God!" He Whispered. "God!"

Chapter 11 Pg 79

 

Sanford Defeated Raleigh This Year In Football,  And For A Time The

College Was Wild With Excitement And Delight. Most Of The Free Lumber In

Haydensville Was Burned In a TA

Charming And Interesting Picture. A Replica By Sir J. Reynolds,  The

Property Of Lord Cadogan,  Is At Chelsea House.

 

The Other Group Was Of A Younger Generation,  More Brilliant And More

Modern. They Might Not Inappropriately Be Called The Fox Group,

Since His Personality Was So Conspicuous Among Them. They Talked

Politics And Gambled At Brooks'S,  They Appreciated Each Other'S

Brightness,  And Lost Their Money With The Indifference Of True

Friends. There Was The Gallant And Charming Soldier Fitzpatrick,  The

Schoolfellow And Friend Of Fox,  The Sagacious And Versatile But

Place-Seeking Storer. Hare,  Who,  Less Well-Born,  Had Risen By His

Wit And Talents To A Place Among The Cleverest Men Of The Time,  "The

Hare With Many Friends," As He Was Called By The Duchess Of Gordon.

Chapter 11 Pg 80

Frederick,  Earl Of Carlisle And Crawford,  The "Petit Craufurt" Of

Mme. Du Deffand; And Chief Of All Was Charles Fox,  Who To Selwyn Was

Incomprehensible. Selwyn Had Been His Father'S Friend,  And Had Known

Him From Childhood. He Loved Him And Liked His Companionship; Yet

His Unrestrained Folly At The Gambling-Table And On The Racecourse,

His Loose Ideas On Money Matters,  And His Political Opinions,  At

Times Annoyed,  Irritated,  And Puzzled Him Almost Beyond Endurance.

With The Older And The Younger Group Selwyn Was On The Same Terms Of

Intimate Friendship: Now Pleasing By His Wit,  And Now Helping By His

Kindness And Common Sense.

 

Castle Howard Was The Place,  Outside London,  Which Most Attracted

Him. It Is Even To-Day A Long Way From The Metropolis,  And One Feels

Something Like Surprise That Such A Lover Of The Town As Selwyn

Could,  Even To The End Of His Life,  Undertake The Tiresome Journey

To Yorkshire. But In The Stately Galleries Of Vanbrugh'S Design He

Renewed His Associations With France. There He Was Not Bored By

Country Society; In The Home Circle He Had All The Company He

Needed. He Could Look Out Over The Rolling Uplands And See The

Distant Wolds,  Contented To Observe And Enjoy Them From Afar Amidst

The Books And Pictures Which His Host Had Collected. If He Wanted

Exercise The Spacious Gardens Were At Hand,  And The Artificial

Adornment Of Temples And Statuary Pleased A Taste Highly Cultivated

After The Fashion Of The Times.

 

In A Drawing-Room Selwyn Was As Welcome As In a Club,  And He Could

Only Be Said To Be Out Of Place In His Own Country House,  More

Especially At The Time Of An Election For Gloucester. The Modern

Love Of Landscape,  Of Country Life As An Aesthetic Pleasure,  Was

Unknown To Him. Civilisation,  Refinement,  Seemed To Him To Be

Confined To London And Paris,  To Bath Or Tunbridge Wells. "Now Sto

Per Partire,  And I Ought In Point Of Discretion To Set Out

To-Morrow,  But I Dare Say 'Twill Be Friday Evening Before I'Ll Have

The Courage To Throw Myself Off The Cart. But Then Go I Must; For On

Monday Our Assizes Begin,  And How Long I Shall Stay The Lord Knows,

But I Hope In God Not More Than Ten Days At Farthest,  For I Find My

Aversion To That Part Of The World Greater And More Insufferable

Every Day Of My Life,  And Indeed Have No Wish To Be Absent From Home

But To Go To Castle Howard,  Which I Hope That I Shall Not Delay Many

Days After My Return From Gloucestershire" (August,  1774). A Week

Later He Had Arrived At His Home. "The Weather Is Very Fine,  And

Matson In as Great Beauty As A Place Can Be In,  But The Beauties Of

It Make Very Little Impression Upon Me; In Short,  There Is Nothing

In The Eccentric Situation In Which I Am Now That Can Afford Me The

Least Pleasure,  And Everything I Love To See In The World Is At A

Distance From Me" (August 9,  1774).

 

To-Day Such A Man As Selwyn Would Have Had A Choice Collection Of

Water Colours; He Would Be Ashamed If He Could Not Appreciate The

Tone And Tenderness Of An English Landscape. But Though A Friend Of

Reynolds And Of Romney,  Though He Commissioned And Appreciated

Gainsborough,  And Valued The Masterpieces Of The Past,  In a Word,

Was Essentially A Man Of Culture,  Yet This Phase Of Modern

Refinement Was Utterly Unknown To Him. He Ran His Fingers

Through His Hair Until It Stood Grotesquely On End. "Oh,  That'S The Old

Argument. I'Ve Heard It Debated In a Hundred Bull Sessions. One Fellow

Says It'S All Wrong,  And Another Fellow Says It'S All Right,  And You

Never Get Anywhere. I Want Somebody To Tell Me What'S Wrong About It And

Chapter 11 Pg81

What'S Right. God Knows You Don'T Find Out In Your Classes. They Have

Doc Conners Give Those Smut Talks To Us In Our Freshman Year,  And A

Devil Of A Lot Of Good They Do. A Bunch Of Fellows Faint And Have To Be

Lugged Out,  And The Doc Gives You Some Sickening Details About Venereal

Diseases,  And That'S As Far As You Get. Now,  I'M All Messed Up About

This Sex Business,  And I'Ll Admit That I'M Thinking About It All The

Time,  Too. Some Fellows Say It'S All Right To Have A Woman,  And Some

Fellows Say It'S All Wrong,  But I Notice None Of Them Have Any Use For A

Woman Who Isn'T Straight."

 

All Of The Boys Were Sitting In easy-Chairs Except Donald Ferguson,  Who

Was Lying On The Couch And Listening In Silence. He Was A Handsome Youth

With Scotch Blue Eyes And Sandy Hair. Women Were Instantly Attracted By

His Good Looks,  Splendid Physique,  Slow Smile,  And Quiet Drawl.

 

He Spoke For The First Time. "The Old Single-Standard Fight," He Said,

Propping His Head On His Hand. "I Don'T See Any Sense In Scrapping About

That Any More. We'Ve Got A Single Standard Now. The Girls Go Just As

Fast As The Fellows."

 

"Oh,  That'S Not So," Hugh Exclaimed. "Girls Don'T Go As Far As Fellows."

 

Ferguson Smiled Pleasantly At Hugh And Drawled; "Shut Up,  Innocent; You

Don'T Know Anything About It. I Tell You The Old Double Standard Has

Gone All To Hell."

 

"You'Re Exaggerating,  Don,  Just To Get Hugh Excited," Ross Said In His

Quiet Way. "There Are Plenty Of Decent Girls. Just Because A Lot Of Them

Pet On All Occasions Isn'T Any Reason To Say That They Aren'T Straight.

I'M Older Than You Fellows,  And I Guess I'Ve Had A Lot More Experience

Than Most Of You. I'Ve Had To Make My Own Way Since I Was A Kid,  And

I'Ve Bumped Up Against A Lot Of Rough Customers. I Worked In a Lumber

Camp For A Year,  And After You'Ve Been With A Gang Like That For A

While,  You'Ll Understand The Difference Between Them And College

Fellows. Those Boys Are Bad Eggs. They Just Haven'T Any Morals,  That'S

All. They Turn Into Beasts Every Pay Night; And Bad As Some Of Our

College Parties Are,  They Aren'T A Circumstance To A Lumber Town On Pay

Night."

 

"That'S No Argument," George Winsor Said Excitedly,  Taking His Pipe Out

Of His Mouth And Gesticulating With It. "Just Because A Lumberjack Is A

Beast Is No Reason That A College Man Is All Right Because He'S Less Of

A Beast. I Tell You I Get Sick Of My Own Thoughts,  And I Get Sick Of The

College When I Hear About Some Things That Are Done. I Keep Straight,

And I Don'T Know Why I Do,  I Despise About Half The Fellows That Chase

Around With Rats,  And Sometimes I Envy Them Like Hell. Well,  What'S The

Sense In Me Keeping Straight? What'S The Sense In anybody Keeping

Straight? Fellows That Don'T Seem To Get Along Just As Well As Those

That Do. What Do You Think,  Mel? You'Ve Been Reading Havelock Ellis And

A Lot Of Ducks Like That."

 

Burbank Tossed A Cigarette Butt Into The Fire And Gazed Into The Flames

For A Minute Before Speaking,  His Homely Face Serious And Troubled. "I

Don'T Know What To Think," He Replied Slowly. "Ellis Tells About Some

Things That Make You Fairly Sick. So Does Forel. The Human Race Can Be

Awfully Rotten. I'Ve Been Thinking About It A Lot,  And I'M All Mixed Up.

Sometimes Life Just Doesn'T Seem Worth Living To Me,  What With The Filth

And The Slums And The Greed And Everything. I'Ve Been Taking A Course

Chapter 11 Pg82

In Sociology,  And Some Of The Things That Prof Davis Has Been Telling Us

Make You Wonder Why The World Goes On At All. Some Poet Has A Line

Somewhere About Man'S Inhumanity To Man,  And I Find Myself Thinking

About That All The Time. The World'S Rotten As Hell,  And I Don'T See How

Anything Can Be Done About It. I Don'T Think Sometimes That It'S Worth

Living In. I stonishment Is Ridiculous. The Sight Of A Man On The

Gallows No More Disturbed The Serenity Of The Most Good-Natured Of

Men At The End Of The Eighteenth Century Than Do The Dying Flutters

Of A Partridge The Susceptibilities Of The Most Cultured Of Modern

Sportsmen. Selwyn Was Ever Trying To Get As Much Amusement Out Of

Life As Possible,  And He Would Have Been Acting Contrary To All The

Ideas Of The Fashionable Society Of His Age If He Had Sat At Home

When A Criminal Was To Die. It Was Said Of Boswell,  Just As It Was

Of Selwyn,  That He Was Passionately Fond Of Attending Executions. We

Need Not Therefore Be Surprised That Selwyn Did As Others Of His

Time. Gilly Williams Was A Kind And Good-Natured Man,  Yet We Find

Him Writing To Selwyn:

 

"Harrington'S Porter Was Condemned Yesterday. Cadogan And I Have

Already Bespoken Places At The Braziers,  And I Hope Parson Digby

Will Come Time Enough To Be Of The Party. I Presume We Shall Have

Your Honour'S Company,  If Your Stomach Is Not Too Squeamish For A

Single Serving."

 

Another Friend,  Henry St. John,  Begins A Letter To Selwyn By Telling

How He And His Brother Went To See An Execution. "We Had A Full

View Of Mr. Waistcott As He Went To The Gallows With A White Cockade

In His Hat." Not To Be Wanting In The Ordinary Courtesies Of The

Time,  Selwyn'S Correspondent Presently Remarks,  As One Nowadays

Would Do Of A Day'S Grouse-Shooting: "I Hope You Have Had Good Sport

At The Place De Greve,  To Make Up For Losing The Sight Of So

Notorious A Villain As Lady Harrington'S Porter. Mais Laisons La Ce

Discours Triste,  And Let Us Talk Of The Living And Lively World."

Selwyn Made His World Brighter By His Wit And Pleasantries,  And The

Sight Of An Execution Did Not Depress His Spirits. "With His Strange

And Dismal Turn," Wrote Walpole,  "He Has Infinite Fun And Humour In

Him."* And The Author Of A Social Satire Blunted His Thrusts At

Selwyn By A Long Explanatory Note Which Concludes With The Remark

That "George Is A Humane Man."*

 

* Letters,  Vol. Ii. 315.

 

* "The Diaboliad," P. 18. See Chapter 3.

 

It Was Selwyn'S Fate--And In every Generation We Find Some One Of

Whom The Same May Be Said--To Have His Characteristics Or Foibles

Exaggerated. It Occurred To Him In Regard To Witticisms And The

Sight Of Executions; He Did Not Complain Of This,  For He Knew It

Would Be Useless,  But He Disliked To Be Regarded As An Habitual

Jester Or As Possessing An Unnatural Taste For Horrors.*

 

* "George,  As Soon As The King Had Spoken To Him,  Withdrew And Went

Away,  The King Then Knighted The Ambitious Squire. The King

Afterwards Expressed His Astonishment To The Group-In-Waiting That

Mr. Selwyn Should Not Stay To See The Ceremony,  Observing That It

Looked So Like An Execution That He Took It For Granted Mr. Selwyn

Would Have Stayed To See It. George Heard Of The Joke,  But Did Not

Like It: He Is,  On That Subject,  Still Very Sore." ("Journals And

Chapter 11 Pg 83

Correspondence Of Lord Auckland," Vol. Ii. P. 210).

 

But Another And More Widespread Habit Is Often Referred To In His

Letters. The Gambling Which Selwyn Disapproved,  But Indulged In For

Years,  Is Constantly Alluded To In His Correspondence. The Hold

Which This Vice Had Upon Nearly Every One Who Regarded Himself As

Belonging To The Best Society Of London Has Never Been More Clearly

And Vividly Depicted Than In Selwyn'S Letters. It Was The Protest--

Always Varying,  Always Taking New Forms,  But Always Present--Against

The Monotony Of Life. Fortunes Were Nightly Lost At Brooks'S And

White'S,  And Substantial Sums Were Gambled Away By Ladies Of

Position And Of Fashion In The Most Exclusive Drawing-Rooms In Order

To Kill Time. Selwyn Himself Was A Sagacious And Careful Man; But He

Was Nevertheless A Moderate Gambler; He Always Perceived The Folly

Of It; And Yet For A Great Many Years,  He Was Constantly Risking

Part Of By No Means A Large Fortune. The Green Table Was The

Stock Exchange And Turf Of The Time,  Men And Women Frequented The

Clubs And Drawing-Rooms Where The Excitement Of Gambling Could Be

Enjoyed As ople Would Be Pure And

Good,  Then Christ'S Philosophy Would Work,  But They Aren'T Pure And

Good; They Aren'T Made Pure And Good,  They'Re Made Selfish,  And Bad:

They'Re Made,  Mind You,  Made Full Of Evil And Lust. I Tell You It'S All

Wrong. I'Ve Been Reading And Reading,  And The More I Read The More I'M

Convinced That We'Re All Rotten--And That If There Is A God He Made Us

Rotten."

 

"You'Re Wrong!" They All Turned Toward Winsor,  Who Was Still Standing By

The Fireplace; Even Ferguson Rolled Over And Looked At The Excited Boy.

"You'Re Wrong," He Repeated,  "All Wrong. I Admit All That'S Been Said

About Parents. They Do Cheat Us Just As Don Said. I Never Tell My Folks

Anything That Really Matters,  And I Don'T Know Any Other Fellows That

Do,  Either. I Suppose There Are Some,  But I Don'T Know Them. And I Admit

That There Is Sin And Vice,  But I Don'T Admit That Christ'S Philosophy

Is Useless. I'Ve Read The Sermon On The Mount,  Too. That'S About All Of

The Bible That I Have Read,  But I'Ve Read That; And I Tell You You'Re

All Wrong. There Is Enough Good In Man To Make That Philosophy

Practical. Why,  There Is More Kindness And Goodness Around Than We Know

About. We See The Evil,  And We Know We Have Lusts And--And Things,  But

We Do Good,  Too. And Hugh Was Right When He Talked A While Ago About The

Beauty In The World. There'S Lots Of It,  Lots And Lots Of It. There'S

Beautiful Poetry And Beautiful Music And Beautiful Scenery; And There

Are People Who Appreciate All Of It. I Tell You That In Spite Of

Everything Life Is Worth Living. And I Believe In christ'S Philosophy,

Too. I Don'T Know Whether He Is The Son Of God Or Not--I Think That He

Must Be--But That Doesn'T Make Any Difference. Look At The Wonderful

Influence He Has Had."

 

"Rot," Said Burbank Calmly,  "Absolute Rot. There Has Never Been A Good

Deed Done In His Name; Just The Inquisition And The What-Do-You-Call-'Ems

In Russia. Oh,  Yes,  Pogroms--And Wars And Robbing People. Christianity

Is Just A Name; There Isn'T Any Such Thing. And Most Of The Professional

Christians That I'Ve Seen Are Damn Fools. I Tell You,  George,  It'S All

Wrong. We'Re All In The Dark,  And I Don'T Believe The Profs Know Any More

About It Than We Do."

 

"Oh,  Yes,  They Do," Hugh Exclaimed; "They Must. Think Of All The

Chapter 11 Pg 84

Studying They'Ve Done."

 

"Bah." Burbank Was Contemptuous. "They'Ve Read A Lot Of Books,  That'S

All. Most Of Them Never Had An Idea In Their Lives. Oh,  I Know That

Some Of Them Think; If They Didn'T,  I'D Leave College To-Morrow. It'S

Men Like Davis And Maxwell And Henley And Jimpson Who Keep Me Here. But

Most Of The Profs Can'T Do Anything More Than Spout A Few Facts That

They'Ve Got Out Of Books. No,  They Don'T Know Any More About It Than We

Do. We Don'T Know Why We'Re Here Or Where We'Re Going Or What We Ought

To Do While We Are Here. And We Get Into Groups And Tell Smutty Stories

And Talk About Women And Religion,  And We Don'T Know Any More Than When

We Started. Think Of All The Talk That Goes On Around This College About

Sex. There'S No End To It. Some Of The Fellows Say Positively There'S No

Sense In Staying Straight; And A Few,  Damn Few,  Admit That They Think A

Fellow Ought To Leave Women Alone,  But Most Of Them Are In a Muddle."

 

He Rose And Stretched. "I'Ve Got To Be Going--Philosophy Quiz

To-Morrow." He Smiled. "I Don'T Agree With Nutter,  And I Don'T Agree

With George,  And I Don'T Agree With You,  Don; And The Worst Of It Is

That I Don'T Agree With Myself. You Fellows Can Bull About This Some

More If You Want To; I'Ve Got To Study."

 

"No,  They Can'T," Said Ross. "Not Here,  Anyway. I'Ve Got To Study,  Too.

The Whole Of You'Ll Have To Get Out."

 

The Boys Rose And Stretched. Ferguson Rolled Lazily Off The Couch.

"Well," He Said With A Yawn,  "This Has Been Very Edifying. I'Ve Heard

It All Before In a Hundred Bull Sessions,  And I Suppose I'Ll Hear It All

Again. I Don'T Know Why I'Ve Hung Around. There'S A Little Dame That

I'Ve Got To Write A Letter To,  And,  Believe Me,  She'S A Damn Sight More

Interesting Than All Your Bull." He Strolled Out Of The Door,  Drawling A

Slow "Good Night" Over His Shoulder.

 

Hugh Went To His Room And Thought Over The Talk. He Was Miserably

Confused. Like Ferguson He Had Believed Everything That His Father And

Mother--And The Minister--Had Told Him,  And He Found Himself Beginning

To Discard Their Ideas. There Didn'T Seem To Be Any Ideas To Put In The

Place Of Those He Discarded. Until Carl'S Recent Confidence He Had

Believed Firmly In chastity,  But He Discovered,  Once The First Shock Had

Worn Off,  That He Liked Carl The Unchaste Just As Much As He Had Carl

The Chaste. Carl Seemed Neither Better Nor Worse For His Experience.

 

He Was Lashed By Desire; He Was Burning With Curiosity--And Yet,  And Yet

Something Held Him Back. Something--He Hardly Knew What It Was--Made Him

Avoid Any Woman Who Had A Reputation For Moral Laxity. He Shrank From

Such A Woman--And Desired Her So Intensely That He Was Ashamed.

 

Life Was Suddenly Becoming Very Complicated,  More Complicated,  It

Seemed,  Every Day. With Other Undergraduates He Discussed Women And

Religion Endlessly,  But He Never Reached Any Satisfactory Conclusions.

He Wished That He Knew Some Professor That He Could Talk To. Surely Some

Of Them Must Know The Answers To His Riddles....

 

 

 

Chapter 12 Pg 85

Hugh Wasn'T Troubled Only By Religion And Sex; The Whole College Was

Disturbing His Peace Of Mind: All Of His Illusions Were Being Ruthlessly

Shattered. He Had Supposed That All Professors Were Wise Men,  That Their

Knowledge Was Almost Limitless,  And He Was Finding That Many Of The

Undergraduates Were Frankly Contemptuous Of The Majority Of Their

Teachers And That He Himself Was Finding Inspiration From Only A Few Of

Them. He Went To His Classes Because He Felt That He Had To,  But In Most

Of Them He Was Confused Or Bored. He Learned More In The Bull Sessions

Than He Did In The Class-Room,  And Men Like Ross And Burbank Were

Teaching Him More Than His Instructors.

 

Further,  Nu Delta Was Proving A Keen Disappointment. More And More He

Found Himself Thinking Of Malcolm Graham'S Talk To Him During The

Rushing Season Of His Freshman Year. He Often Wished That Graham Were

Still In college So That He Could Go To Him For Advice. The Fraternity

Was Not The Brotherhood That He Had Dreamed About; It Was Composed Of

Several Cliques Warring With Each Other,  Never Coalescing Into A Single

Group Except To Contest The Control Of A Student Activity With Some

Other Fraternity. There Were A Few "Brothers" That Hugh Liked,  But Most

Of Them Were Not His Kind At All. Many Of Them Were Athletes Taken Into

The Fraternity Because They Were Athletes And For No Other Reason,  And

Although Hugh Liked Two Of The Athletes--They Were Really Splendid

Fellows--He Was Forced To Admit That Three Of Them Were Hardly Better

Than Thugs,  Cheap Muckers With Fine Bodies. Then There Were The Snobs,

Usually Prep School Men With More Money Than They Could Handle Wisely,

Utterly Contemptuous Of Any Man Not Belonging To A Fraternity Or Of One

Belonging To Any Of The Lesser Fraternities. These Were The "Smooth

Boys," Interested Primarily In clothes And "Parties," Passing Their

Courses By The Aid Of Tutors Or Fraternity Brothers Who Happened To

Study.

 

Hugh Felt That He Ought To Like All Of His Fraternity Brothers,  But,  Try

As He Would,  He Disliked The Majority Of Them. Early In His Sophomore

Year He Knew That He Ought To Have "Gone" Delta Sigma Delta,  That That

Fraternity Contained A Group Of Men Whom He Liked And Respected,  Most Of

Them,  At Least. They Weren'T Prominent In Student Activities,  But They

Were Earnest Lads As A Whole,  Trying Hard To Get Something Out Of

College.

 

The Nu Delta Meetings Every Monday Night Were A Revelation To Him. The

Brothers Were Openly Bored; They Paid Little Or No Attention To The

Business Before Them. The President Was Constantly Calling For Order

And Not Getting It. During The Rushing Season In The Second Term,

Interest Picked Up. Freshmen Were Being Discussed. Four Questions Were

Inevitably Asked. Did The Freshman Have Money? learly Realise Them As Types Which Can Never Recur.

 

The Secret Of Selwyn'S Charm Lies In The Contrasts Of His Character;

His Versatility And Cosmopolitan Sympathies Attract Us Now As They

Chapter 12 Pg 86

Attracted In His Lifetime Men Very Different In Habits,  Pursuits,

And Mind.

 

The First Lord Holland,  Horace Walpole,  The Duke Of Queensberry,

Each A Type Of The Society Of The Eighteenth Century; The

Unscrupulous Politician,  The Cultivated Amateur And Man Of Letters,

The Sportsman With Half The Opera Dancers In London In His Pay--Of

All He Was The Closest Friend. The Most Intimate Of Them,  The Duke

Of Queensberry,  Led An Extravagant And A Dissipated Life,  In

Contrast With Which Selwyn'S Was Homely And Simple. He Could Leave

The Gambling Table Of The Club To Play With Mie Mie Or A Schoolboy

From Eton; While His Friends Were Crippled By Dice And Cards And

Became Seekers After Political Places By Which They Might Live,  He

Was Prudent In His Play And Neither Ruined Himself Nor Others. He

Had A Self-Control And A Sound Sense,  Which Were Not Common In His

Generation; We See Them In The Tranquil,  Contemplative Eyes Of

Reynolds'S Portraits,  Ready In a Moment To Gleam With Humour. By

Reason Of His Unfailing Good-Nature,  He Was Always At The Service Of

A Friend. Himself Without Ambition,  He Watched Men,  Not Possessed Of

His Tact And Ability,  Rise To Positions Which He Had Never The Least

Desire To Fill. In an Age Of Great Political Bitterness And The

Strongest Personal Antagonism He Continued The Tranquil Tenor Of His

Way,  Amused And Amusing,  Hardly Ever Put Out Except By The Illness

Or The Misfortune Of A Friend. "George Selwyn Died This Day

Se'Night," Wrote His Friend Storer To Lord Auckland; "A More

Good-Natured Man Or A More Pleasant One Never,  I Believe,  Existed.

The Loss Is Not Only A Private One To His Friends,  But Really A

Public One To Society In General."* Gaiety Of Temperament And Sound

Sense,  A Quick Wit And A Kind Heart,  Sincerity And Love Of Society,

Culture Without Pedantry,  A Capacity To Enjoy The World In each

Stage Of Life: These Are Seldom Found United In One Individual As

They Were In George Selwyn,  And He Is Thus For Us Perhaps The

Pleasantest Personality Of English Society In The Eighteenth

Century.

 

* "Journal And Correspondence Of Lord Auckland," Vol. Ii. P. 383.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2. 1767-1769 The Correspondence Commences.

 

Frederick,  Fifth Earl Of Carlisle--Lady Sarah Bunbury--The Duke Of

Grafton--Carlisle,  Charles Fox,  And The Hollands Abroad--Current

Events--Card-Playing--A Dinner At Crawford'S--Lady Bolingbroke

--Almack'S--The Duke Of Bedford--Lord Clive--The Nabobs--Corporation

Of Oxford Sell The Representation Of The Borough--Madame Du Deffand

--Publication Of Horace Walpole'S "Historic Doubts On Richard The

Third"--Newmarket--London Society--Gambling At The Clubs--A Post

Promised To Selwyn--Elections--A Purchase Of Wine--Vauxhall.

 

In The Chapter Which Contains The Earliest Of Selwyn'S Letters To

Frederick,  Earl Of Carlisle,* Something Must Be Said Of The

Correspondence Itself. It Was Begun In 1767,  And Most Of The Letters

Which Selwyn Wrote To Lord And Lady Carlisle From That Date To His

Death Have Been Preserved At Castle Howard. The Collection Is In

Chapter 12 Pg 87

Many Respects Unique. It Records A Great Number Of Facts,  Many No

Doubt Small And In Themselves Unimportant,  Which,  However,  In The

Aggregate Form A Lifelike Picture Of English Society In The

Eighteenth Century. The Letters Are Written In The Bright And

Unaffected Manner Which Madame De Sevigne,  Whose Style Selwyn So

Much Admired,  Had Introduced In France. Filled With Human Interest

And Easily Expressed,  They Differ Materially From Walpole'S Letters

In That They Are Characterised By A Greater Simplicity,  And A Less

Egotistical Tone. They Show A Keener Interest In His Correspondent.

There Is In Them A Delightful Frankness,  An Unconventional

Freshness. Walpole'S Correspondence,  Invaluable As It Is,  Always

Bears Traces Of The Preparation Which We Know That It Received. But

Selwyn,  With A Light Touch,  Wre The Thoughts And Impassions Of The

Moment,  Never For Effect. Walpole Was Often Thinking Of Posterity,

Selwyn Always Of His Friends,  Who Were Numberless And Who Were In

Their Time Frequently His Correspondents. How Numerous Selwyn'S

Letters Must Have Been We Know From The Number To Him Which Have

Been Published; But With The Exception Of Those Which Have

Fortunately Been Preserved At Castle Howard,  His Appear To Have

Perished.

 

* Frederick,  Fifth Earl Of Carlisle.

1748. Born.

1769. Married Lady Caroline,  Daughter Of Lord Gower.

1777. Treasurer Of Household.

1778. Commissioner To America.

1779. Lord Of Trade And Plantations.

1780. Lord Lieutenant Of Ireland.

1782. Lord Steward.

1783. Lord Privy Seal.

1825. Died.

 

The Frequent French Interpolations With Which His Letters Are

Interspersed Now Strike Us As Affectations. They Were,  However,  A

Fashion Of The Day; Nor Should We Forget That Selwyn Spent So Much

Of His Life In Paris That The Language Came To Him As Easily As His

Own.

 

In 1767 Selwyn And Carlisle Had Not Long Been Friends. "Don'T Lead

Your New Favourite Carlisle Into A Scrape," Wrote Gilly Williams To

Selwyn In The Previous Year. The Words Were Written Without Serious

Intent,  But They Are Noticeable Because They Are So Opposite To The

Whole Course Of The Rising Friendship. The Relations Of The Two Men

Were Remarkable.

 

It Has Been Well Said Of Selwyn By A Statesman Of To-Day That He Was

A Good Friend,  A Fact Never Better Exemplified Than In His

Friendship With Carlisle. In His Affairs He Took A Greater Interest

Than Would Be Expected Of The Nearest Of Relatives,  And With This He

United A Singularly Warm And Open-Hearted Affection Not Only For

Carlisle But For His Family. It Lasted To The Day Of His Death.

There Was Between Them,  As Pitt Said Of His Relations With

Wilberforce,  A Tie Of Affection And Friendship--Simple And Ingenuous

And Unbreakable.

 

The Nobleman Who Has Been Referred To Simply As Lord Carlisle Had

Many Of The Qualities That Mark A Leader Of Men. He Did Not Attain,

However,  To The Eminence As A Statesman,  Man Of Letters,  Or In

Chapter 12 Pg 88

Society Which Had Once Been Expected Of Him.

 

He Succeeded To The Earldom When Ten Years Of Age,  Following A

Father Who Had Shown No Disposition For Any Activities Beyond Those

Of A Respectable Country Gentleman. His Grandfather,  Charles,  Third

Earl Of Carlisle,  Had,  However,  Filled An Important Place In His

Day. His Local Influence In The North Was Great,  And He' Was A Man

Of Sufficient Capacity And Ambition To Become A Personage Of Some

Position In Politics And At Court.

 

There Was Never A Time In english History When The Possession Of An

Ancient Name And Wide Estates Gave Greater Opportunities For Taking

A Large Share In Public Affairs Than When The Fifth Earl Attained

His Majority. It Was Natural,  Therefore,  That A Young Man Who Was

Recognised By His Friends As Above The Average Should Be Regarded As

A Person Of Unusual Political Promise.

 

In 1775 An Offer Was Made To Him Of The Sinecure Post Of Lord Of The

Bedchamber. He Declined It,  On The Openly Declared Ground That The

Position Of An Official At Court Was Such As "Damps All Views Of

Ambition Which Might Arise From That Quarter." But In 1778 There

Came An Opportunity Of Satisfying His Public Spirit And Ambition By

Crossing The Atlantic As A Peace Commissioner To America.

 

It Is A Curious Historical Fact That This Mission Appears To Have

Been Partially,  If Not Entirely,  Originated By Carlisle Himself. The

Story Of Its Inception And The Outlines Of Its Progress Are Told By

Carlisle In a Letter Preserved At Castle Howard,  Which He Addressed

To His Friend And Former Tutor,  Mr. Ekins. It Is Doubtful If The

King Ever Really Hoped Or Intended That Carlisle'S Mission Should

Have A Successful Issue. It Ended,  As History Has Told,  In absolute

Failure. Carlisle Returned Home With The Barren Honour Of Good

Intentions.

 

The Trying Work Which He Had Undertaken Entitled Carlisle,  However,

To Posts Of Importance At Home,  And He Subsequen'Ll--"

 

"You Won'T Do Anything," 'Slade Interrupted. "You'Re Going Home With

Me."

 

"Who In Hell Are You?" One Of The Girls Asked Viciously. "Mind Your Own

Damn Business."

 

"You Mind Yours,  Sister,  Or You'Ll Get Into A Peck Of Trouble. This

Kid'S Going With Me--And Don'T Forget That. Come On,  Carver."

 

Hugh Was Still Vainly Trying To Twist His Wrist Free And Was Muttering,

"Leggo,  Leggo O' Me."

 

Slade Jerked Him Across The Sidewalk. Carl Followed Expostulating. "Get

The Hell Out Of Here,  Peters," Slade Said Angrily,  "Or I'Ll Knock Your

Fool Block Off. You Chase Off With Those Rats If You Want To,  But You

Leave Carver With Me If You Know What'S Good For You." He Shoved Carl

Away,  And Carl Was Sober Enough To Know That Slade Meant What He Said.

Each Girl Took Him By An Arm,  And He Walked Off Down The Street Between

Them,  Almost Instantly Forgetting Hugh.

 

Fortunately The Street Was Nearly Deserted,  And No One Had Witnessed The

Chapter 12 Pg 89

Little Drama. Hugh Began To Sob Drunkenly. Slade Grasped His Shoulders

And Shook Him Until His Head Waggled. "Now,  Shut Up!" Slade Commanded

Sharply. He Took Hugh By The Arm And Started Down The Street With Him,

Hugh Still Muttering,  "Leggo,  Leggo O' Me."

 

Slade Walked Him The Whole Five Miles Back To Haydensville,  And Before

They Were Half Way Home Hugh'S Head Began To Clear. For A Time He Felt A

Little Sick,  But The Nausea Passed,  And When They Reached The Campus He

Was Quite Sober. Not A Word Was Spoken Until Hugh Unlocked The Door Of

Surrey 19. Then Slade Said: "Go Wash Your Face And Head In cold Water.

Souse Yourself Good And Then Come Back; I Want To Have A Talk With You."

 

Hugh Obeyed Orders,  But With Poor Grace. He Was Angry And Confused,

Angry Because His Liberty Had Been Interfered With,  And Confused Because

Slade Had Never Paid More Than Passing Attention To Him--And For A Year

And A Half Slade Had Been His God.

 

Slade Was One Of Those Superb Natural Athletes Who Make History For Many

Colleges. He Was Big,  Powerfully Built,  And Moved As Easily As A

Dancer. His Features Were Good Enough,  But His Brown Eyes Were Dull And

His Jaw Heavy Rather Than Strong. Hugh Had Often Heard That Slade

Dissipated Violently,  But He Did Not Believe The Rumors; He Was Positive

That Slade Could Not Be The Athlete He Was If He Dissipated. He Had Been

Thrilled Every Time Slade Had Spoken To Him--The Big Man Of The College,

The One Sanford Man Who Had Ever Made All American,  As Slade Had This

Year.

 

When He Returned To His Room From The Bath-Room,  Slade Was Sitting In a

Big Chair Smoking A Cigarette. Hugh Walked Into His Bedroom,  Combed His

Dripping Hair,  And Then Came Into The Study,  Still Angry But Feeling A

Little Sheepish And Very Curious.

 

"Well,  What Is It?" He Demanded,  Sitting Down.

 

"Do You Know Who Those Women Were?"

 

"No. Who Are They?"

 

"They'Re Bessie Haines And Emma Gleeson; At Least,  That'S What They Call

Themselves,  And They'Re Rotten Bags."

 

Hugh Had A Little Quiver Of Fright,  But He Felt That He Ought To Defend

Himself.

 

"Well,  What Of It?" He Asked Sullenly. "I Don'T See As You Had Any Right

To Pull Me Away. You Never Paid Any Attention Before To Me. Why This

Sudden Interest? How Come You'Re So Anxious To Guard My Purity?"

 

Slade Was Embarrassed. He Threw His Cigarette Into The Fireplace And

Immediately Lighted Another One. Then He Looked At His Shoes And

Muttered,  "I'M A Pretty Bad Egg Myself."

 

"So I'Ve Heard." Hugh Was Frankly Sarcastic.

 

"Well,  I Am." Slade Looked Up Defiantly. "I Guess It'S Up To Me To

Explain--And I Don'T Know How To Do It. I'M A Dumbbell. I Can'T Talk

Decently. I Flunked English One Three Times,  You Know." He Hesitated A

Moment And Then Blurted Out,  "I Was Looking For Those Bags Myself."

Chapter 12 Pg 90

 

"What?" Hugh Leaned Forward And Stared At Him,  Bewildered And

Dumfounded. "_You_ Were Looking For Them?"

 

"Yeah... You See,  I'M A Bad Egg--Always Been A Bad One With Women,  Ever

Since I Was A Kid. Gotta Have One About Every So Often.... I--I'M Not

Much."

 

"But What Made You Stop Me?" Hugh Pressed His Hand To His Temple. His

Head Was Aching,  And He Could Make Nothing Out Of Slade'S Talk.

 

"Because--Because.... Oh,  Hell,  Carver,  I Don'T Know How To Explain It.

I'M Twenty-Four And You'Re About Nineteen And I Know A Lot That You

Don'T. I Was Brought Up In South Boston And I Ran With A Gang. There

Wasn'T Anything Rotten That We Didn'T Do.... I'Ve Been Watching You.

You'Re Different."

 

"How Different?" Hugh Demanded. "I Want Women Just As Much As You Do."

 

"That Isn'T It." Slade Ran His Fingers Through His Thick Black Hair And

Scowled Fiercely At The Fireplace. "That Isn'T It At All. You'Re--You'Re

Awfully Clean And Decent. I'Ve Been Watching You Lots--Oh,  For A Year.

You'Re--You'Re Different," He Finished Lamely.

 

Hugh Was Beginning To Understand. "Do You Mean," He Asked Slowly,  "That

You Want Me To Keep Straight--That--That,  Well--That You Like Me That

Way Better?" He Was Really Asking Slade If He Admired Him,  And Slade Got

His Meaning Perfectly. To Hugh The Idea Was Preposterous. Why,  Slade Had

Made Every Society On The Campus; He Had Been Given Every Honor That The

Students Could Heap On Him--And He Envied Hugh,  An Almost Unknown

Sophomore. Why,  It Was Ridiculous.

 

"Yes,  That'S What I Mean; That'S What I Was Trying To Get At." For A

Minute Slade Hesitated; He Wasn'T Used To Giving Expression To His

Confused Emotions,  And He Didn'T Know How To Go About It. "I'D--I'D Like

To Be Like You; That'S It. I--I Didn'T Want You To Be Like Me.... Those

Women Are Awful Bags. Anything Might Happen."

 

"Why Didn'T You Stop Carl Peters,  Too,  Then?"

 

"Peters Knows His Way About. He Can Take Care Of Himself. You'Re

Different,  Though.... You'Ve Never Been Drunk Before,  Have You?"

 

"No. No,  I Never Have." Hugh'S Irritation Was All Gone. He Was Touched,

Deeply Touched,  By Slade'S Clumsy Admiration,  And He Felt Weak,

Emotionally Exhausted After His Little Spree. "It'S Awfully Good Of You

To--To Think Of Me That Way. I'M--I'M Glad You Stopped Me."

 

Slade Stood Up. He Felt That He Had Better Be Going. He Couldn'T Tell

Hugh How Much He Liked And Admired Him,  How Much He Envied Him. He Was

Altogether Sentimental About The Boy,  Entirely Devoted To Him. He Had

Wanted To Talk To Hugh More Than Hugh Had Wanted To Talk To Him,  But He

Had Never Felt That He Had Anything To Offer That Could Possibly

Interest Hugh. It Was A Strange Situation; The Hero Had Put The Hero

Worshiper On A High,  White Marble Pedestal.

 

He Moved Toward The Door. "So Long," He Said As Casually As He Could.

Chapter 12 Pg 91

 

Hugh Jumped Up And Rushed To Him. "I'M Awfully Grateful To You,  Harry,"

He Said Impulsively. "It Was Damn White Of You. I--I Don'T Know How To

Thank You." He Held Out His Hand.

 

Slade Gripped It For A Moment,  And Then,  Muttering Another "So Long,"

Passed Out Of The Door.

 

Hugh Was More Confused Than Ever And Grew Steadily More Confused As The

Days Passed. He Couldn'T Understand Why Slade,  Frankly Unchaste Himself,

Should Consider His Chastity So Important. He Was Genuinely Glad That

Slade Had Rescued Him,  Genuinely Grateful,  But His Confusion About All

Things Sexual Was More Confounded. The Strangest Thing Was That When He

Told Carl About Slade'S Talk,  Carl Seemed To Understand Perfectly,

Though He Never Offered A Satisfactory Explanation.

 

"I Know How He Feels," Carl Said,  "And I'M Awfully Glad He Butted In and

Pulled You Away. I'D Hate To See You Messing Around With Bags Like That

Myself,  And If I Hadn'T Been Drunk I Wouldn'T Have Let You. I'M More

Grateful To Him Than You Are. Gee! I'D Never Have Forgiven Myself," He

Concluded Fervently.

 

 

Just When The Incident Was Beginning To Occupy Less Of Hugh'S Thoughts,

It Was Suddenly Brought Back With A Crash. He Came Home From The

Gymnasium One Afternoon To Find Carl Seated At His Desk Writing. He

Looked Up When Hugh Came In,  Tore The Paper Into Fragments,  And Tossed

Them Info The Waste-Basket.

 

"Guess I'D Better Tell You," He Said Briefly. "I Was Just Writing A Note

To You."

 

"To Me? Why?"

 

Carl Pointed To His Suit-Case Standing By The Center-Table.

 

"That'S Why."

 

"Going Away On A Party?"

 

"My Trunk Left An Hour Ago. I'M Going Away For Good." Carl'S Voice Was

Husky,  And He Spoke With An Obvious Effort.

 

Hugh Walked Quickly To The Desk. "Why,  Old Man,  What'S The Matter?

Anything Wrong With Your Mother? You'Re Not Sick,  Are You?"

 

Carl Laughed,  Briefly,  Bitterly. "Yes,  I'M Sick All Right. I'M Sick."

 

Hugh,  Worried,  Looked At Him Seriously. "Why,  What'S The Matter? I

Didn'T Know That You Weren'T Feeling Well."

 

Carl Looked At The Rug And Muttered,  "You Remember Those Rats We Picked

Up In Hastings?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"Well,  I Know Of Seven Fellows They'Ve Sent Home."

 

Chapter 12 Pg 92

"What!" Hugh Cried,  His Eyes Wide With Horror. "You Don'T Mean That

You--That You--"

 

"I Mean Exactly That," Carl Replied In a Low,  Flat Voice. He Rose And

Moved To The Other Side Of The Room. "I Mean Exactly That; And Doc

Conners Agrees With Me," He Added Sarcastically. Then More Softly,  "He'S

Got To Tell The Dean. That'S Why I'M Going Home."

 

Hugh Was Swept Simultaneously By Revulsion And Sympathy. "God,  I'M

Sorry," He Exclaimed. "Oh,  Carl,  I'M So Damn Sorry."

 

Carl Was Standing By Hugh'S Desk,  His Hands Clenched,  His Lips

Compressed. "Keep My Junk," He Said Unevenly,  "And Sell Anything You

Want To If You Live In The House Next Year."

 

"But You'Ll Be Back?"

 

"No,  I Won'T Come Back--I Won'T Come Back." He Was Having A Hard Time

To Keep Back The Tears And Bit His Trembling Lip Mercilessly. "Oh,

Hugh," He Suddenly Cried,  "What Will My Mother Say?"

 

Hugh Was Deeply Distressed,  But He Was Startled By That "My Mother." It

Was The First Time He Had Ever Heard Carl Speak Of His Mother Except As

The "Old Lady."

 

"She Will Understand," He Said Soothingly.

 

"How Can She? How Can She? God,  Hugh,  God!" He Buried His Face In His

Hands And Wept Bitterly. Hugh Put His Arm Around His Shoulder And Tried

To Comfort Him,  And In a Few Minutes Carl Was In control Of Himself

Again. He Dried His Eyes With His Handkerchief.

 

"What A Fish I Am!" He Said,  Trying To Grin. "A Goddamn Fish." He Looked

At His Watch. "Hell,  I'Ve Got To Be Going If I'M Going To Make The Five

Fifteen," He Picked Up His Suit-Case And Held Out His Free Hand.

"There'S Something I Want To Say To You,  Hugh,  But I Guess I'Ll Write

It. Please Don'T Come To The Train With Me." He Gripped Hugh'S Hand Hard

For An Instant And Then Was Out Of The Door And Down The Hall Before

Hugh Had Time To Say Anything.

 

Two Days Afterward The Letter Came. The Customary "Dear Brother" And

"Fraternally Yours" Were Omitted.

 

 

 

 

       Dear Hugh:

 

       I'Ve Thought Of Letters Yards Long But I'M Not Going To

       Write Them. I Just Want To Say That You Are The Finest

       Thing That Ever Happened To Me Outside Of My Mother,  And

       I Respect You More Than Any Fellow I'Ve Ever Known. I'M

       Ashamed Because I Started You Drinking And I Hope You'Ll

       Stop It. I Feel Toward You The Way Harry Slade Does,

       Only More I Guess. You'Ve Done An Awful Lot For Me.

 

       I Want To Ask A Favor Of You. Please Leave Women Alone.

       Keep Straight,  Please. You Don'T Know How Much I Want

Chapter 12 Pg 93

       You To Do That.

 

       Thanks For All You'Ve Done For Me.

 

                                                Carl.

 

 

 

 

Hugh'S Eyes Filled With Tears When He Read That Letter. Carl Seemed A

Tragic Figure To Him,  And He Missed Him Dreadfully. Poor Old Carl! What

Hell It Must Have Been To Tell His Mother! "And He Wants Me To Keep

Straight. By God,  I Will.... I'Ll Try To,  Anyhow."

 

 

Chapter 13 Pg 94

Henley Picked Up Three Themes. Then He Turned His Keen Eyes On Hugh.

"I'Ve Already Read These. Lazy Cuss,  Aren'T You?" He Asked Amiably.

 

Hugh Flushed. "I--I Suppose So."

 

"You Know That You Are; No Supposing To It." He Slapped The Desk Lightly

With The Themes. "First Drafts,  Aren'T They?"

 

"Yes,  Sir." Hugh Felt His Cheeks Getting Warmer.

 

Henley Smiled. "Thanks For Not Lying. If You Had Lied,  This Conference

Would Have Ended Right Now. Oh,  I Wouldn'T Have Told You That I Thought

You Were Lying; I Would Simply Have Made A Few Polite But Entirely

Insincere Comments About Your Work And Let You Go. Now I Am Going To

Talk To You Frankly And Honestly."

 

"I Wish You Would," Hugh Murmured,  But He Wasn'T At All Sure That He

Wished Anything Of The Sort.

 

Henley Knocked The Ashes Out Of His Pipe Into A Metal Tray,  Refilled It,

Lighted It,  And Then Puffed Meditatively,  Gazing At Hugh With Kind But

Speculative Eyes.

 

"I Think You Have Ability," He Began Slowly. "You Evidently Write With

Great Fluency And Considerable Accuracy,  And I Can Find Poetic Touches

Here And There That Please Me. But You Are Careless,  Abominably

Careless,  Lazy. Whatever Virtues There Are In Your Themes Come From A

Natural Gift,  Not From Any Effort You Made To Say The Thing In The Best

Way. Now,  I'M Not Going To Spend Anytime Discussing These Themes In

Detail; They Aren'T Worth It."

 

He Pointed His Pipe At Hugh. "The Point Is Exactly This," He Said

Sternly. "I'Ll Never Spend Any Time Discussing Your Themes So Long As

You Turn In Hasty,  Shoddy Work. I Can See Right Now That You Can Get A C

In This Course Without Trying. If That'S All You Want,  All Right,  I'Ll

Give It To You--And Let It Go At That. The Lord Knows That I Have Enough

To Do Without Wasting Time On Lazy Youngsters Who Haven'T Sense Enough

To Develop Their Gifts. If You Continue To Turn In Themes Like These,

I'Ll Give You C'S Or D'S On Them And Let You Dig Your Own Shallow Grave

By Yourself. But If You Want To Try To Write As Well As You Can,  I'Ll

Give You All The Help In My Power. Not One Minute Can You Have So Long

As You Don'T Try,  But You Can Have Hours If You Do Try. Furthermore,  You

Will Find Writing A Pleasure If You Write As Well As You Can,  But You

Won'T Get Any Sport Just Scribbling Off Themes Because You Have To."

 

He Paused To Toss The Three Themes Across The Desk To Hugh,  Who Was

Watching Him With Astonishment. No Instructor Had Ever Talked To Him

That Way Before.

 

"You Can Rewrite These Themes If You Want To," Henley Went On. "I

Haven'T Graded Them,  And I'Ll Reserve The Grades For The Rewritten

Themes; And If I Find That You Have Made A Real Effort,  I'Ll Discuss

Them In detail With You. What Do You Say?"

 

"I'D Like To Rewrite Them," Hugh Said Softly. "I Know They Are Rotten."

 

"No,  They Aren'T Rotten. I'Ve Got Dozens That Are Worse. That Isn'T The

Chapter 13 Pg 95

Point. They Aren'T Nearly So Good As You Can Make Them,  And Only Your

Best Work Is Acceptable To Me. Now Show Me What You Can Do With Them,

And Then We'Ll Tear Them To Shreds In Regular Fashion." He Turned To His

Desk And Smiled At Hugh,  Who,  Understanding That The Conference Was

Over,  Stood Up And Reached For The Themes. "I'Ll Be Interested In

Seeing What You Can Do With Those," Henley Concluded. "Every One Of Them

Has A Good Idea. Go To It--And Get Them Back In a Week."

 

"Yes,  Sir. Thanks Very Much."

 

"Right-O. Good-By."

 

"Good-By,  Sir," And Hugh Left The Office Determined To Rewrite Those

Themes So That "They'D Knock Jimmie Henley'S Eye Out." They Didn'T Do

Exactly That,  But They Did Interest Him,  And He Spent An Hour And A Half

Discussing Them With Hugh.

 

That Was Merely The First Of A Series Of Long Conferences. Sometimes

Henley And Hugh Discussed Writing,  But Often They Talked About Other

Subjects,  Not As Instructor And Student But As Two Men Who Respected

Each Other'S Mind. Before The Term Was Out Henley Had Invited Hugh To

His Home For Dinner And To Meet Mrs. Henley. Hugh Was Enormously

Flattered And,  For Some Reason,  Stimulated To Do Better Work. He Found

His Talks With Henley Really Exciting,  And He Expressed His Opinions To

Him As Freely And Almost As Positively As He Did To His Classmates. He

Told His Friends That Jimmie Henley Was Human,  Not Like Most Profs. And

He Worked At His Writing As He Had Never Worked At Anything,  Running

Excepted,  Since He Had Been In college.

 

The Students Never Knew What To Expect From Henley In The Class-Room.

Sometimes He Read Themes And Criticized Them; Sometimes He Discussed

Books That He Had Been Reading; Sometimes He Read Poetry,  Not Because

Contemporary Poetry Was Part Of The Course But Because He Happened To

Feel Like Reading It That Morning; Sometimes He Discoursed On The Art Of

Writing; And Sometimes He Talked About Anything That Happened To Be

Occupying His Mind. He Made His Class-Room An Open Forum,  And The

Students Felt Free To Interrupt Him At Any Time And To Disagree With

Him. Usually They Did Disagree With Him And Afterward Wrote Violent

Themes To Prove That He Was Wrong. That Was Exactly What Henley Wanted

Them To Do,  And The More He Could Stir Them Up The Better Satisfied He

Was.

 

One Morning,  However,  He Talked Without Interruption. He Didn'T Want To

Be Interrupted,  And The Boys Were So Taken Back By His Statements That

They Could Find No Words To Say Anything.

 

The Bell Rang. Henley Called The Roll,  Stuck His Class-Book Into His

Coat Pocket,  Placed His Watch On The Desk; Then Leaned Back And Looked

The Class Over.

 

"Your Themes Are Making Me Sick," He Began,  "Nauseated. I Have A Fairly

Strong Stomach,  But There Is Just So Much That I Can Stand--And You Have

Passed The Limit. There Is Hardly A Man In This Class Who Hasn'T Written

At Least One Theme On The Glory That Is Sanford. As You Know,  I Am A

Sanford Man Myself,  And I Have My Share Of Affection For The College,

But You Have Reached An Ecstasy Of Chauvinism That Makes Chauvin'S

Affection For Napoleon Seem Almost Like Contempt.

Chapter 13 Pg 96

 

"In The Last Batch Of Themes I Got Five Telling Me Of The Perfection Of

Sanford: Sanford Is The Greatest College In The Country; Sanford Has The

Best Athletes,  The Finest Equipment,  The Most Erudite Faculty,  The Most

Perfect Location,  The Most Loyal Alumni,  The Strongest Spirit--The Most

Superlative Everything. Nonsense! Rot! Bunk! Sanford Hasn'T Anything Of

The Sort,  And I Who Love It Say So. Sanford Is A Good Little College,

But It Isn'T A Harvard,  A Yale,  Or A Princeton,  Or,  For That Matter,  A

Dartmouth Or Brown; And Those Colleges Still Have Perfection Ahead Of

Them. Sanford Has Made A Place For Itself In The Sun,  But It Will Never

Find A Bigger Place So Long As Its Sons Do Nothing But Chant Its Praises

And Condemn Any One As Disloyal Who Happens To Mention Its Very Numerous

Faults.

 

"Well,  I'M Going To Mention Some Of Those Faults,  Not All Of Them By Any

Means,  Just Those That Any Intelligent Undergraduate Ought To Be Able To

See For Himself.

 

"In The First Place,  This Is Supposed To Be An Educational Institution;

It Is Endowed For That Purpose And It Advertises Itself As Such. And You

Men Say That You Come Here To Get An Education. But What Do You Really

Do? You Resist Education With All Your Might And Main,  Digging Your

Heels Into The Gravel Of Your Own Ignorance And Fighting Any Attempt To

Teach You Anything Every Inch Of The Way. What'S Worse,  You Aren'T

Content With Your Own Ignorance; You Insist That Every One Else Be

Ignorant,  Too. Suppose A Man Attempts To Acquire Culture,  As Some Of

Them Do. What Happens? He Is Branded As Wet. He Is A Social Leper.

 

"Wet! What Currency That Bit Of Slang Has--And What Awful Power. It Took

Me A Long Time To Find Out What The Word Meant,  But After Long Research

I Think That I Know. A Man Is Wet If He Isn'T A 'Regular Guy'; He Is Wet

If He Isn'T 'Smooth'; He Is Wet If He Has Intellectual Interests And

Lets The Mob Discover Them; And,  Strangely Enough,  He Is Wet By The Same

Token If He Is Utterly Stupid. He Is Wet If He Doesn'T Show At Least A

Tendency To Dissipate,  But He Isn'T Wet If He Dissipates To Excess. A

Man Will Be Branded As Wet For Any Of These Reasons,  And Once He Is So

Branded,  He Might As Well Leave College; If He Doesn'T,  He Will Have A

Lonely And Hard Row To Hoe. It Is A Rare Undergraduate Who Can Stand The

Open Contempt Of His Fellows."

 

He Paused,  Obviously Ordering His Thoughts Before Continuing. The Boys

Waited Expectantly. Some Of Them Were Angry,  Some Amused,  A Few In

Agreement,  And All Of Them Intensely Interested.

 

Henley Leaned Back In His Chair. "What Horrible Little Conformers You

Are," He Began Sarcastically,  "And How You Loathe Any One Who Doesn'T

Conform! You Dress Both Your Bodies And Your Minds To Some Set Model.

Just At Present You Are Making Your Hair Foul With Some Sort Of Perfumed

Axle-Grease; Nine Tenths Of You Part It In The Middle. It Makes No

Difference Whether The Style Is Becoming To You Or Not; You Slick It

Down And Part It In The Middle. Last Year Nobody Did It; The Chances Are

That Next Year Nobody Will Do It,  But Anybody Who Doesn'T Do It Right

Now Is In danger Of Being Called Wet."

 

Chapter 13 Pg 97

Hugh Had A Moment Of Satisfaction. He Did Not Pomade His Hair,  And He

Parted It On The Side As He Had When He Came To College. True,  He Had

Tried The New Fashion,  But After Scanning Himself Carefully In The

Mirror,  He Decided That He Looked Like A "Blond Wop"--And Washed His

Hair. He Was Guilty,  However,  Of The Next Crime Mentioned.

 

"The Same Thing Is True Of Clothes," Henley Was Saying. "Last Year Every

One Wore Four-Button Suits And Very Severe Trousers. This Year Every One

Is Wearing Norfolk Jackets And Bell-Bottomed Trousers,  Absurd Things

That Flop Around The Shoes,  And Some Of Them All But Trail On The

Ground. Now,  Any One Who Can'T Afford The Latest Creation Or Who

Declines To Wear It Is Promptly Called Wet.

 

"And,  As I Said Before,  You Insist On The Same Standardization Of Your

Minds. Just Now It Is Not _Au Fait_ To Like Poetry; A Man Who Does Is

Exceedingly Wet,  Indeed; He Is Effeminate,  A Sissy. As A Matter Of

Fact,  Most Of You Like Poetry Very Much. You Never Give Me Such Good

Attention As When I Read Poetry. What'S More,  Some Of You Are Writing

The Disgraceful Stuff. But What Happens When A Man Does Submit A Poem As

A Theme? He Writes At The Bottom Of The Page,  'Please Do Not Read This

In Class.' Some Of You Write That Because You Don'T Think That The Poem

Is Very Good,  But Most Of You Are Afraid Of The Contempt Of Your

Classmates. I Know Of Any Number Of Men In This College Who Read Vast

Quantities Of Poetry,  But Always On The Sly. Just Think Of That! Men Pay

Thousands Of Dollars And Give Four Years Of Their Lives Supposedly To

Acquire Culture And Then Have To Sneak Off Into A Corner To Read Poetry.

 

"Who Are Your College Gods? The Brilliant Men Who Are Thinking And

Learning,  The Men With Ideals And Aspirations? Not By A Long Shot. They

Are The Athletes. Some Of The Athletes Happen To Be As Intelligent And

As Eager To Learn As Anybody Else,  But A Fair Number Are Here Simply

Because They Are Paid To Come To Play Football Or Baseball Or What Not.

And They Are Worshiped,  Bowed Down To,  Cheered,  And Adored. The

Brilliant Men,  Unless They Happen To Be Very 'Smooth' In The Bargain,

Are Considered Wet And Are Ostracized.

 

"Such Is The College That You Write Themes About To Tell Me That It Is

Perfect. The College Is Made Up Of Men Who Worship Mediocrity; That Is

Their Ideal Except In athletics. The Condition Of The Football Field Is

A Thousand Times More Important To The Undergraduates And The Alumni

Than The Number Of Books In The Library Or The Quality Of The Faculty.

The Fraternities Will Fight Each Other To Pledge An Athlete,  But I Have

Yet To See Them Raise Any Dust Over A Man Who Was Merely Intelligent.

 

"I Tell You That You Have False Standards,  False Ideals,  And That You

Have A False Loyalty To The College. The College Can Stand Criticism; It

Will Thrive And Grow On It--But It Won'T Grow On Blind Adoration. I Tell

You Further That You Are As Standardized As Fords And About As

Ornamental. Fords Are Useful For Ordinary Work; So Are You--And Unless

Some Of You Wake Up And,  As You Would Say,  'Get Hep To Yourselves,' You

Are Never Going To Be Anything More Than Human Fords.

 

"You Pride Yourselves On Being The Cream Of The Earth,  The Noblest Work

Of God. You Are Told So Constantly. You Are The Intellectual Aristocracy

Of America,  The Men Who Are Going To Lead The Masses To A Brighter And

Broader Vision Of Life. Merciful Heavens Preserve Us! You Swagger Around

Utterly Contemptuous Of The Man Who Hasn'T Gone To College. You Talk

Magnificently About Democracy,  But You Scorn The Non-College Man--And

Chapter 13 Pg 98

You Try Pathetically To Imitate Yale And Princeton. And I Suppose Yale

And Princeton Are Trying To Imitate Fifth Avenue And Newport. Democracy!

Rot! This College Isn'T Democratic. Certain Fraternities Condescend To

Other Fraternities,  And Those Fraternities Barely Deign Even To

Condescend To The Non-Fraternity Men. You Say Hello To Everybody On The

Campus And Think That You Are Democratic. Don'T Fool Yourselves,  And

Don'T Try To Fool Me. If You Want To Write Some Themes About Sanford

That Have Some Sense And Truth In Them,  Some Honest Observation,  Go

Ahead; But Don'T Pass In any More Chauvinistic Bunk. I'M Sick Of It."

 

He Put His Watch In His Pocket And Stood Up. "You May Belong To The

Intellectual Aristocracy Of The Country,  But I Doubt It; You May Lead

The Masses To A 'Bigger And Better' Life,  But I Doubt It; You May Be The

Cream Of The Earth,  But I Doubt It. All I'Ve Got To Say Is This: If

You'Re The Cream Of The Earth,  God Help The Skimmed Milk." He Stepped

Down From The Rostrum And Briskly Left The Room.

 

For An Instant The Boys Sat Silent,  And Then Suddenly There Was A Rustle

Of Excitement. Some Of Them Laughed,  Some Of Them Swore Softly,  And Most

Of Them Began To Talk. They Pulled On Their Baa-Baa Coats And Left The

Room Chattering.

 

"He Certainly Has The Dope," Said Pudge Jamieson. "We'Re A Lot Of

Low-Brows Pretending To Be Intellectual High-Hats. We'Re Intellectual

Hypocrites; That'S What We Are."

 

"How Do You Get That Way?" Ferdy Hillman,  Who Was Walking With Hugh And

Pudge,  Demanded Angrily. "We May Not Be So Hot,  But We'Re A Damn Sight

Better Than These Guys That Work In Offices And Mills. Jimmie Henley

Gives Me A Pain. He Shoots Off His Gab As If He Knew Everything. He'S

Got To Show Me Where Other Colleges Have Anything On Sanford. He'S A

Hell Of A Sanford Man,  He Is."

 

They Were Walking Slowly Down The Stairs. George Winsor Caught Up With

Them.

 

"What Did You Think Of It,  George?" Hugh Asked.

 

Winsor Grinned. "He Gave Me Some Awful Body Blows," He Said,  Chuckling.

"Cripes,  I Felt Most Of The Time That He Was Talking Only To Me. I'M

Sore All Over. What Did orrow At Lord Harrington'S,(37) And,  I Am Told,  With The New

Ministers.(38) I Had A Little Supper At Lady Harrington'S(39) On

Sunday,  En Famille; Lord And Lady Barrymore(40) Were There. She Goes

On With Her Pregnancy.

 

I Found Beauc. Sitting With His Future,(41) En Habit De Gala; He

Soon Went Away To The Opera,  So I Had A Tete A Tete. Mr. Radclif(42)

Is Still Talked Of For Lady F.,  But I Have Not Asked Sir Will[Ia]M

Mus[Grave] If It Is True. He Is Very Well Spoke Of,  Et Le Nom Est

Assez Beau.

 

Quinze Goes On Vigorously At Almack'S.(43) Lady S. Says

That You Have Fixed Your Coming Of Age As An Epoque For Leaving Off

That And All Kind Of Play Whatsoever. My Dear Lord,  Vive Hodie;

Don'T Nurse Any Passion That Gathers Strength By Time,  And May Be

Easier Broke Of At First. I Am In Hopes Indeed That When You Are

Chapter 13 Pg 99

Maitre De Vos Biens,  As The French Say,  You Will Not Invite Scot,

Parker,  Or Shafto(44) To Partake It With You. Your Condition Of

Life,  And The Necessary Expenses Of It,  Will Not Allow That

Coalition. I Never Kept So Long From Play Yet,  But I Frankly Own I

Have Not Much Virtue To Boast Of By That Continency. I Know Of No

Good Opportunity Which I Have Resisted. St. John(45) Told Me At The

Play Last Night That You Was To Go And Return From Turin Alone. I

Hope That Is Not So; I Shall Be Very Angry With Robert,  If He Does

Not Take Great Care Both Of You And Rover. I Will Finish The Rest

When I Have Seen Sir William.

 

Tuesday Night.--Sir W[Illia]M Sent Me Word He Did Not Call Upon Me

To-Day Because He Could Not Settle With The Courier Till Thursday;

And Hemmins Did Call,  And Assured Me That On Thursday The Badge

Should Be Ready. I Scolded Till I Was In a Fever; I Believe He Will

Not Venture To Put Me Off Any Longer.

 

(30) "Historic Doubts On Richard The Third."

 

(31) The Best English History That Had Been Written Up To That Time,

And The First That Made Any Attempt To Literary Merit. The First

Edition Was Published At Intervals From 1754 To 1761. A Second

Edition Had Been Issued In 1762.

 

(32) Henry,  Tenth Earl Of Pembroke (1734-1794). He Married In

1756 Elizabeth,  Second Daughter Of The Third Duke Of Marlborough.

 

(33) Lord Baltimore Had Been Acquitted Of The Charge Of Abduction

Which Had Been Brought Against Him,  But The Prosecution Brought

Forward Facts Sufficient To Justify The Public Indignation That Was

Raised. He Soon After Went Abroad,  And Died In Naples In 1771.

 

(34) Richard Fitzpatrick (1747-1813); Second Son Of John,  First

Earl Of Upper Ossory And Lady Evelyn Leveson Gower,  Daughter Of

Second Earl Gower. His Sister,  Lady Mary Fitzpatrick,  Married

Charles James Fox'S Elder Brother,  Stephen,  Afterward Second Lord

Holland. Fitzpatrick Is One Of The Best Known Names In The History

Of The Social Life Of The Last Half Of The Eighteenth Century--The

Duke Of Queensberry Left Him A Legacy In Recognition Of His Fine

Manners. He Was The Talented And Accomplished Friend Of Fox,  Whose

Excesses In Gaming And In all The Fashionable Follies Of The Day He

Rivalled. He Served With Credit In The American War; In 1780 Was

Returned To Parliament; In 1782 Appointed Secretary To The Duke Of

Portland,  Then Lord-Lieutenant Of Ireland; In 1783 Made Secretary At

War. At His Death He Was A Privy Councillor,  A General In The Army,

And Colonel Of The Forty-Seventh Regiment Of Foot.

 

(35) Lady Isabella Fitzroy,  Youngest Daughter Of Charles,  Second

Duke Of Grafton. She Married In 1741 Francis,  First Marquis Of

Hertford.

 

(36) George Lane Parker(1724-1791),  Second Son Of George,  Second

Earl Of Macclesfield. He Became A General And A Member Of

Parliament.

 

(37) William Wildman,  Second Viscount Barrington (1717-1793). He

Filled Various High Official And Court Offices; He Was A Chancellor

Of The Exchequer In 1761,  And Subsequently Secretary At War.

Chapter 13 Pg 100

 

(38) The Bedford Faction Effected A Junction With The Government At

The End Of 1767,  And Lord Sandwich,  And Lord Weymouth,  And Rigby

Entered The Ministry.

 

(39)5 Caroline Fitzroy,  Eldest Daughter Of The Second Duke Of

Grafte Mie Than Half The

Fellows In This Fraternity Can Say. Most Of 'Em Don'T Do Anything But Go

On Parties And Raise Hell Generally. How Come You'Re Picking On Me? Why

Don'T You Ride Some Of Them For A While? I Don'T See Where They'Re So

Hot."

 

"Never Mind The Other Fellows." Tucker'S Black Eyes Flashed Angrily. He

Was One Of The "Hell-Raisers" Himself,  Good Looking; Always Beautifully

Dressed,  And Proud Of The Fact That He Was "Rated The Smoothest Man On

The Campus." His "Smoothness" Had Made Him Prominent In activities--That

And His Estimate Of Himself. He Took It For Granted That He Would Be

Prominent,  And The Students Accepted Him At His Own Valuation; And

Powerful Nu Delta Had Been Behind Him,  Always Able To Swing Votes When

Votes Were Needed.

 

"Never Mind The Other Fellows," He Repeated. "They'Re None Of Your

Party. You'Ve Got Talents,  And You'Re Not Making Use Of Them. You Could

Be As Popular As The Devil If You Wanted To,  But You Go Chasing Around

With Kikes And Micks."

 

Hugh Was Very Angry And A Little Absurd In His Youthful Pomposity. "I

Suppose You Refer To Parker And Einstein--My One Mick Friend,  Although

He Isn'T Irish,  And My,  One Jewish Friend. Well,  I Shall Stick To Them

And See Just As Much Of Them As I Like. I'Ve Told You That Before,  And

You Might As Well Get Me Straight Right Now: I'M Going To Run With

Whoever I Want. The Fraternity Cannot Dictate To Me About My Friends.

You Told Me You Didn'T Want Parker And Einstein Around The House. I

Don'T Bring Them Around. I Don'T See As How You'Ve Got A Right To Ask

Anything More."

 

"I Don'T Suppose You Realize That Everything You Do Reflects On The

Fraternity," Tucker Retorted,  Slightly Pompous Himself.

 

"I Suppose It Does,  But I Can'T See That I Have Done Anything That Is

Going To Ruin The Name Of Nu Delta. I Don'T Get Potted Regularly Or

Chase Around With Filthy Bags Or Flunk My Courses Or Crib My Way

Through; And I Could Mention Some Men In This House Who Do All Those

Things." Hugh Was Thoroughly Angry And No Longer In Possession Of His

Best Judgment. "If You Don'T Like The Way I Act,  You Can Have My Pin Any

Time You Say." He Stood Up,  His Blue Eyes Almost Black With Rage,  His

Cheeks Flushed,  His Mouth A Thin White Line.

 

Tucker Realized That He Had Gone Too Far. "Oh,  Don'T Get Sore,  Hugh," He

Said Soothingly. "I Didn'T Mean It The Way You Are Taking It. Of Course,

We Don'T Want You To Turn In Your Pin. We All Like You. We Just Want You

To Come Around More And Be One Of The Fellows,  More Of A Regular Guy. We

Feel That You Can Bring A Lot Of Honor To The Fraternity If You Want To,

And We'Ve Been Kinda Sore Because You'Ve Been Giving Activities The

Go-By."

 

"How About My Studies?" Hugh Retorted. "I Suppose You Want Me To Give

Chapter 13 Pg 101

Them The Air. Well,  I Did The First Term,  And I Made A Record That I Was

Ashamed Of. I Promised My Folks That I'D Do Better; And I'M Going To. I

Give An Hour Or Two A Day To Track And Several Hours A Week To The Glee

Club,  And Now I'M Going To Have To Give Several More To The Banjo Club.

That'S All I Can Give At Present,  And That'S All I'M Going To Give. I

Know Perfectly Well That Some Fellows Can Go Out For A Bunch Of

Activities And Make Phi Bete,  Too; But They'Re Sharks And I'M Not. Don'T

Worry,  Either; I Won'T Disgrace The Fraternity By Making Phi Bete," He

Concluded Sarcastically.

 

"Oh,  Calm Down,  Hugh,  And Forget What I Said," Tucker Pleaded,

Thoroughly Sorry That He Had Started The Argument. "You Go Ahead And Do

What You Think Right And We'Ll Stand By You." He Stood Up And Put His

Hand On Hugh'S Shoulder. "No Hard Feelings,  Are There,  Old Man?"

 

Kindness Always Melted Hugh; No Matter How Angry He Was,  He Could Not

Resist It. "No," He Said Softly; "No Hard Feelings. I'M Sorry I Lost My

Temper."

 

Tucker Patted His Shoulder. "Oh,  That'S All Right. I Guess I Kinda Lost

Mine,  Too. You'Ll Be Around To The Meeting To-Morrow Night,  Won'T You?

Better Come. Paying Fines Don'T Get You Anywhere."

 

"Sure,  I'Ll Come."

 

He Went But Took No Part In The Discussion,  Nor Did He Frequent The

Fraternity House Any More Than He Had Previously. More And More He

Realized That He Had "Gone With The Wrong Crowd," And More And More He

Thought Of What Graham Had Said To Him In His Freshman Year About How A

Man Was In Hell If He Joined The Wrong Fraternity. "I Was The Wise

Bird," He Told Himself Caustically; "I Was The Guy Who Knew All About

It. Graham Saw What Would Happen,  And I Didn'T Have Sense Enough To

Take His Advice. Hell,  I Never Even Thought About What He Told Me. I

Knew That I Would Be In Heaven If Nu Delta Gave Me A Bid. Heaven! Well,

I'M Glad That They Were Too High-Hat For Norry Parker And That He Went

With The Right Bunch."

 

Norville Parker Was Hugh'S Catholic Friend,  And The More He Saw Of The

Freshman The Better He Liked Him. Parker Had Received Several Bids From

Fraternities,  And He Followed The Advice Hugh Had Given Him. "If Delta

Sigma Delta Bids You,  Go There," Hugh Had Said Positively. "They'Re The

Bunch You Belong With. Apparently The Kappa Zetes Are Going To Bid You,

Too. You Go Delta Sig If You Get The Chance." Hugh Envied Parker The

Really Beautiful Fraternity Life He Was Leading. "Why In God'S Name," He

Demanded Of Himself Regularly,  "Didn'T I Have Sense Enough To Take

Graham'S Advice?"

 

When Spring Came,  The Two Boys Took Long Walks Into The Country,  Both Of

Them Loving The New Beauty Of The Spring And Happy In Perfect

Companionship. Hugh Missed Carl Badly,  And He Wanted To Ask Parker To

Room With Him The Remainder Of The Term. He Felt,  However,  That The

Fraternity Would Object,  And He Wanted No Further Trouble With Nu Delta.

As A Matter Of Fact,  The Fraternity Would Have Said Nothing,  But Hugh

Had Become Hypersensitive And Expected His "Brothers" To Find Fault

With His Every Move. He Had No Intention Of Deserting Parker,  But He

Could Not Help Feeling That Rooming With Him Would Be A Gratuitous

Chapter 13 Pg 102

Insult To The Fraternity.

 

Parker--Every One Called Him Norry--Was A Slender,  Delicate Lad With

Dreamy Gray Eyes And Silky Brown Hair That,  Unless He Brushed It Back

Severely,  Fell In Soft Curls On His Extraordinarily White Forehead.

Except For A Slightly Aquiline Nose And A Firm Jaw,  He Was Almost

Effeminate In appearance,  His Mouth Was So Sensitive,  His Hands So White

And Slender,  His Manner So Gentle. He Had A Slow,  Winning Smile,  A

Quiet,  Low Voice. He Was A Dreamer And A Mystic,  A Youth Who Could See

Fairies Dancing In The Shadows; And He Told Hugh What He Saw.

 

"I See Things," He Said To Hugh One Moonlight Night As They Strolled

Through The Woods; "I See Things,  Lovely Little Creatures Flitting

Around Among The Trees: I Mean I See Them When I'M Alone. I Like To Lie

On My Back In The Meadows And Look At The Clouds And Imagine Myself

Sitting On A Big Fellow And Sailing And Sailing Away To Heaven. It'S

Wonderful. I Feel That Way When I Play My Fiddle." He Played The Violin

Beautifully And Had Promptly Been Made Soloist For The Musical Clubs.

"I--I Can'T Explain. Sometimes When I Finish Playing,  I Find My Eyes

Full Of Tears. I Feel As If I Had Been To Some Wonderful Place,  And I

Don'T Want To Come Back."

 

"I Guess I'M Not Like Other Fellows. I Cry Over Poetry,  Not Because It

Makes Me Sad. It'S Not That. It'S Just So Beautiful. Why,  When I First

Read Shelley'S 'Cloud' I Was Almost Sick I Was So Happy. I Could Hardly

Stand It. And When I Hear Beautiful Music I Cry,  Too. Why,  When I Listen

To Kreisler,  I Sometimes Want To Beg Him To Stop; It Hurts And Makes Me

So Happy That--That I Just Can'T Stand It," He Finished Lamely.

 

"I Know," Hugh Said. "I Know How It Is. I Feel That Way Sometimes,  Too,

But Not As Much As You,  I Guess. I Don'T Cry. I Never Really Cry,  But I

Want To Once In a While. I--I Write Poetry Sometimes," He Confessed

Awkwardly,  "But I Guess It'S Not Very Good. Jimmie Henley Says It Isn'T

So Bad For A Sophomore,  But I'M Afraid That He'S Just Stringing Me

Along,  Trying To Encourage Me,  You Know. But There Are Times When I'Ve

Said A Little Bit Right,  Just A Little Bit,  But I'Ve Known That It Was

Right--And Then I Feel The Way You Do."

 

"I'Ve Written Lots Of Poetry," Norry Said Simply,  "But It'S No Good;

It'S Never Any Good." He Paused Between Two Big Trees And Pointed

Upward. "Look,  Look Up There. See Those Black Branches And That Patch Of

Sky Between Them And Those Stars. I Want To Picture That--And I Can'T;

And I Want To Picture The Trees The Way They Look Now So Fluffy With

Tiny New Leaves,  But I Miss It A Million Miles.... But I Can Get It In

Music," He Added More Brightly. "Grieg Says It. Music Is The Most

Wonderful Thing In The World. I Wish I Could Be A Great Violinist. I

Can'T,  Though. I'M Not A Genius,  And I'M Not Strong Enough. I Can'T

Practice Very Long."

 

They Continued Walking In Silence For A Few Minutes,  And Then Norry

Said: "I'M Awfully Happy Here At College,  And I Didn'T Expect To Be,

Either. I Knew That I Was Kinda Different From Other Fellows,  Not So

Strong; And I Don'T Like Ugly Things Or Smutty Stories Or Anything Like

That. I Think Women Are Lovely,  And I Hate To Hear Fellows Tell Dirty

Stories About Them. I'M No Fool,  Hugh; I Know About The Things That

Happen,  But I Don'T Want To Hear About Them. Things That Are Dirty And

Chapter 13 Pg 103

Ugly Make Me Feel Sick."

 

"Well,  I Was Afraid The Fellows Would Razz Me. But They Don'T. They

Don'T At All. The Fellows Over At The Delta Sig House Are Wonderful To

Me. They Don'T Think I'M Wet. They Don'T Razz Me For Not Going On Wild

Parties,  Though I Know That Some Of The Fellows Are Pretty Gay

Themselves. They Ask Me To Fiddle For Them Nearly Every Evening,  And

They Sit And Listen Very,  Very Quietly Just As Long As I'Ll Play. I'M

Glad You Told Me To Go Delta Sig."

 

Norry Made Hugh Feel Very Old And A Little Crude And Hard. He Realized

That There Was Something Rare,  Almost Exquisite,  About The Boy,  And That

He Lived Largely In a Beautiful World Of His Own Imagination. It Would

Have Surprised Norry If Any One Had Told Him That His Fraternity

Brothers Stood In awe Of Him,  That They Thought He Was A Genius. Some Of

Them Were Built Out Of Pretty Common Clay,  But They Felt The Almost

Unearthly Purity Of The Boy They Had Made A Brother; And The Hardest Of

Them,  The Crudest,  Silently Elected Himself The Guardian Of That Purity.

 

Chapter 14 Pg 104

 

Hugh Found Real Happiness In Norry Parker'S Companionship,  And Such Men

As Burbank And Winsor Were Giving Him A More Robust But No Less Pleasant

Friendship. They Were Earnest Youths,  Eager And Alive,  Curious About The

World,  Reading,  Discussing All Sorts Of Topics Vigorously,  And Yet Far

More Of The Earth Earthy Than Parker,  Who Was So Mystical And Dreamy

That Constant Association With Him Would Have Been Something Of A

Strain.

 

For A Time Life Seemed To Settle Down Into A Pleasant Groove Of Studies

That Took Not Too Much Time,  Movies,  Concerts,  An Occasional Play By The

Dramatic Society,  Perhaps A Slumming Party To A Dance In Hastings

Saturday Nights,  Bull Sessions,  Long Talks With Henley In His Office Or

At His Home,  Running On The Track,  And Some Reading.

 

For A Week Or Two Life Was Lifted Out Of The Groove By A Professor'S

Daughter. Burbank Introduced Hugh To Her,  And At First He Was Attracted

By Her Calm Dignity. He Called Three Times And Then Gave Her Up In

Despair. Her Dignity Hid An Utterly Blank Mind. She Was As Uninteresting

As Her Father,  And He Had The Reputation,  Well Deserved,  Of Being The

Dullest Lecturer On The Campus.

 

Only One Event Disturbed The Pleasant Calm Of Hugh'S Life After His

Argument With Tucker. He Did Not Attend Prom Because He Knew No Girl

Whom He Cared To Ask; He Failed Again To Make His Letter And Took His

Failure Philosophically; And He Received A Note From Janet Harton

Chapter 14 Pg 105

Telling Him That She Was Engaged To "The Most Wonderful Man In The

World"--And He Didn'T Give A Hoot If She Was.

 

Just After Easter Vacation The Nu Deltas Gave Their Annual House Dance.

Hugh Looked Forward To It With Considerable Pleasure. True,  He Was Not

"Dragging A Woman," But Several Of The Brothers Were Going "Stag"; So He

Felt Completely At Ease.

 

The Freshmen Were Put Toeceived A Letter From You By Friday'S Post,  To

Satisfy Us Where You Was. This Idea Of An Epidemical Disorder At

Turin Has Alarmed Lady Carlisle,  And I Have Caught Some Of The

Fright Of Her. March Returned Yesterday From Lord Spencer'S,  And The

Usual Company Supped At The Duke Of Grafton'S.

 

Mrs. Horton(60) Sets Out For Nice With A Toad-Eater And An Upper

Servant Of The Duke'S This Next Week. The Night Robbers Prove To Be

Soldiers In The Foot Guards,  Which I Suspected; We Have Not

Recovered Our Terrors,  And Still Go Home,  As They Travel In The

Eastern Countries,  Waiting For Convoys; It Ruins Me In Flambeaux'S.

 

Lord Clive Will Not I Think Live To Go To Nice,  But I Hope He Will

Get Safe To Paris,  And Then Sir J. Lambert Will Take Care Of All The

Rest. The Badge Is Pretty,  Excepting That The Shape Of It Is Too

Long,  And The Whole Seems Too Large For A Young Person. But That Was

The Fault Of The Sardonyx.

 

The Duchess Of Bucc[Leugh](61) Is Very Far Gone With Child; But I

Believe I Told You So In My Last. I Will Write The Rest When Lady

Sarah Is Gone From My House Tuesday After Dinner.

 

Tuesday Night.--My Dear Lord,  I Have Waited Till My Foreign Letters

Came In before I Would Finish This,  Always In Hopes Of One From You.

I Have Received One By This Post From Charles Of The 6Th Of This

Month; And He Says You Was Answering One Which You Had Just Had From

Me. This Gives Me Hope That I Shall Hear From You On Friday.

 

Lady Sarah Dined With Me,  Miss Blake,  Sir Charles,  Lord March,  Lady

Bolingbroke,  And Crawfurd. Lady S[Arah],  &C. Went To The Play Soon.

She Received A Long Letter From Lady Holland While We Were At

Dinner,  But Only Said That Lord H[Ollan]D Was Well,  Which I Was Glad

To Hear. We Were 16 Yesterday At The Duke Of Gr[Afton'S],  A Very

Mixed Company. He Enquired Very Kindly After You.

 

I Think I Shall Have Both Trouble And Expense At Gloucester,  As I

Have Had Heretofore,  But That Is All I Apprehend,  And That I Have

Been Prepared For A Great While,  By Expectation. I Am In Great Hopes

From Charles'S Letter That You Are Still At Nice. Not That I Think

But,  Being So Near Turin,  If There Was Anything To Be Feared From

The Distemper,  You Would Certainly Hear It,  And Not Go. Perhaps

There Are Letters From You In cleveland Court; I Shall Send To Sir

Wm.(62) To Enquire.

 

The Great Event At Almack'S Is That Scott Has Left Off Play; He Is,

I Suppose,  The Plena Cruons Hirundo. I Am Not Quite Satisfied That

Sir J. Lambert Is Punctual In Forwarding My Letters; Pray Let Me

Know It. Those Who Have Been To See Me Think Your Picture Very Like,

But Not A Good Likeness Is Agreed On All Hands; But Such As It Is,  I

Am Very Much Obliged To You For It.

Chapter 14 Pg 106

 

I Am Extremely Glad To Find That You Are Applying To Italian,  But To

Anything Is Useful. You Will Find The Benefit Of It Your Whole Life.

There Are Lacunes To Be Filled Up In every Stage,  Which Nothing Can

Supply So Well As Reading,  I Am Persuaded.

 

I Find The Last Of Mine That You Had Received When Charles Wrote His

Was A Month Ago; That Makes Me Afraid Sir J. L[Ambert] Keeps Them.

There [They] Are No More Worth His Keeping Than Your Receiving,  But

They Give Me The Pleasure Of Assuring You,  Which I Can,  With Great

Truth,  That I Am Ever Most Truly And Most Affectionately Yours.

 

(60) The Duke Of Grafton Made No Secret Of His Relations With Mrs.

Horton.

 

(61) Elizabeth,  Duchess Of Buccleugh,  Daughter Of George,  Duke Of

Montagu. She Was Married In 1767.

 

(62) Sir William Musgrave.

 

 

 

 

Intermixed With The Personal News Which Fills The Next Letter There

Are Allusions To Some Social And Political Incidents Very

Characteristic Of The Time. The Indian Nabob,  Or Millionaire As We

Should Now Call Him,  Had Begun To Desire A Seat In Parliament For

His Own Purposes,  Just As The Sinecurist Did For His,  And He Was

Able To Outbid The Home Purchaser. The Jealousy With Which The Court

Party Regarded The Encroachments Of These Returned Anglo-Indians In

Their Preserves Is Amusing,  Especially When We Recollect That So

Great Was The Venality

Were Sick; One Had A "Crying Jag." There Were Men There,  However,  Who

Were Not Drinking At All,  And They Were Making Gallant Efforts To Keep

The Sober Girls Away From The Less Sober Girls And The Inebriated

Brothers.

 

Hugh Was Not Drinking. The Idea Of Drinking At A Dance Was Offensive To

Him; He Thought It Insulting To The Girls. The Fact That Some Of The

Girls Were Drinking Horrified Him. He Didn'T Mind Their Smoking--Well,

Not Very Much; But Drinking? That Was Going Altogether Too Far.

 

About Midnight He Danced Again With Hester Sheville,  Not Because He

Wanted To But Because She Had Insisted. He Had Been Standing Gloomily In

The Doorway Watching The Bacchanalian Scene,  Listening To The Tom-Tom

Of The Drums When She Came Up To Him.

 

"I Wanta Dance," She Said Huskily. "I Wanta Dance With You--You--You

Blond Beast." Seeing No Way To Decline To Dance With The Half-Drunk

Girl,  He Put His Arm Around Her And Started Off. Hester'S Tongue Was No

Longer In control,  But Her Feet Followed His Unerringly. When The Music

Stopped,  She Whispered,  "Take Me--Ta-Take Me To Th' Th' Dining-Room."

Wonderingly,  Hugh Led Her Across The Hall. He Had Not Been In The

Dining-Room Since The Dance Started,  And He Was Amazed And Shocked To

Find Half A Dozen Couples In The Big Chairs Or On The Divans In close

Embrace. He Paused,  But Hester Led Him To An Empty Chair,  Shoved Him

Clumsily Down Into It,  And Then Flopped Down On His Lap.

 

Chapter 14 Pg 107

"Le'S--Le'S Pet," She Whispered. "I Wanna Pet."

 

Again Hugh Smelled The Whisky Fumes As She Put Her Hot Mouth To His And

Kissed Him Hungrily. He Was Angry,  Angry And Humiliated. He Tried To Get

Up,  To Force The Girl Off Of His Lap,  But She Clung Tenaciously To Him,

Striving Insistently To Kiss Him On The Mouth. Finally Hugh'S Anger Got

The Better Of His Manners; He Stood Up,  The Girl Hanging To His Neck,

Literally Tore Her Arms Off Of Him,  Took Her By The Waist And Set Her

Down Firmly In The Chair.

 

"Sit There," He Said Softly,  Viciously; "Sit There."

 

She Began To Cry,  And He Walked Rapidly Out Of The Dining-Room,  His

Cheeks Flaming And His Eyes Flashing; And The Embracing Couples Paid No

Attention To Him At All. He Had To Pass The Door Of The Library To Get

His Top-Coat--He Made Up His Mind To Get Out Of The "Goddamned

House"--And Was Walking Quickly By The Door When One Of The Patronesses

Called To Him.

 

"Oh,  Mr. Carver. Will You Come Here A Minute?"

 

"Surely,  Mrs. Reynolds." He Entered The Library And Waited Before The

Dowager.

 

"I Left My Wrap Up-Stairs--In Mr. Merrill'S Room,  I Think It Is. I Am

Getting A Little Chilly. Won'T You Get It For Me?"

 

"Of Course. It'S In Merrill'S Room?"

 

"I Think It Is. It'S Right At The Head Of The Stairs. The Wrap'S Blue

With White Fur."

 

Hugh Ran Up The Stairs,  Opened Merrill'S Door,  Switched On The Lights,

And Immediately Spotted The Wrap Lying Over The Back Of A Chair. He

Picked It Up And Was About To Leave The Room When A Noise Behind Him

Attracted His Attention. He Turned And Saw A Man And A Girl Lying On The

Bed Watching Him.

 

Hugh Stared Blankly At Them,  His Mouth Half Open.

 

"Get Th' Hell Out Of Here," The Man Said Roughly.

 

For An Instant Hugh Continued To Stare; Then He Whirled About,  Walked

Out Of The Room,  Slammed The Door Behind Him,  And Hurried Down The

Stairs. He Delivered The Wrap To Mrs. Reynolds,  And Two Minutes Later He

Was Out Of The House Walking,  Almost Running,  Across The Campus To

Surrey Hall. Once There,  He Tore Off His Top-Coat,  His Jacket,  His

Collar And Tie,  And Threw Himself Down Into A Chair.

 

So This Was College! This Was The Fraternity--That Goddamned Rat House!

That Was What He Had Pledged Allegiance To,  Was It? Those Were His

Brothers,  Were They? Brothers! Brothers!

 

He Fairly Leaped Out Of His Chair And Began To Pace The Floor. College!

Gentlemen! A Lot Of Muckers Chasing Around With A Bunch Of Rats; That'S

What They Were. Great Thing--Fraternities. No Doubt About It,  They Were

A Great Institution.

 

Chapter 14 Pg 108

He Paused In His Mental Tirade,  Suddenly Conscious Of The Fact That He

Wasn'T Fair. Some Of The Fraternities,  He Knew,  Would Never Stand For

Any Such Performance As He Had Witnessed That Evening; Most Of Them,  He

Was Sure,  Wouldn'T. It Was Just The Nu Deltas And One Or Two Others;

Well,  Maybe Three Or Four. So That'S What He Had Joined,  Was It?

 

He Thought Of Hester Sheville,  Of Her Whisky Breath,  Her Lascivious

Pawing--And His Hands Clenched. "Filthy Little Rat," He Said Aloud,  "The

Stinkin',  Rotten Rat."

 

Then He Remembered That There Had Been Girls There Who Hadn'T Drunk

Anything,  Girls Who Somehow Managed To Move Through The Whole Orgy Calm

And Sweet. His Anger Mounted. It Was A Hell Of A Way To Treat A Decent

Girl,  To Ask Her To A Dance With A Lot Of Drunkards And Soused Rats.

 

He Was Warm With Anger. Reckless Of The Buttons,  He Tore Off His

Waistcoat And Threw It On A Chair. The Jeweled Fraternity Pin By The

Pocket Caught His Eye. He Stared At It For A Moment And Then Slowly

Unpinned It. He Let It Lie In His Hand And Addressed It Aloud,  Hardly

Aware Of The Fact That He Was Speaking At All.

 

"So That'S What You Stand For,  Is It? For Snobs And Politicians And

Muckers. Well,  I Don'T Want Any More Of You--Not--One--Damn--Bit--

More--Of--You."

 

He Tossed The Pin Indifferently Upon The Center-Table,  Making Up His

Mind That He Would Resign From The Fraternity The Next Day.

 

When The Next Day Came He Found,  However,  That His Anger Had Somewhat

Abated. He Was Still Indignant,  But He Didn'T Have The Courage To Go

Through With His Resignation. Such An Action,  He Knew,  Would Mean A

Great Deal Of Publicity,  Publicity Impossible To Avoid. The Fraternity

Would Announce Its Acceptance Of His Resignation In "The Sanford Daily

News"; And Then He Would Either Have To Lie Or Start A Scandal.

 

As The Days Went By And He Thought More And More About The Dance,  He

Began To Doubt His Indignation. Wasn'T He After All A Prude To Get So

Hot? Wasn'T He Perhaps A Prig,  A Sissy? At Times He Thought That He Was;

At Other Times He Was Sure That He Wasn'T. He Could Be Permanently Sure

Of Only One Thing,  That He Was A Cynic.

 

Chapter 15 Pg 109

 

Hugh Avoided The Nu Delta House For The Remainder Of The Term And Spent

More Time On His Studies Than He Had Since He Had Entered College. The

Result Was,  Of Course,  That He Made A Good Record,  And The A That Henley

Gave Him In english Delighted Him So Much That He Almost Forgot His

Fraternity Troubles. Not Quite,  However. During The First Few Weeks Of

The Vacation He Often Thought Of Talking To His Father About Nu Delta

Chapter 15 Pg 110

But He Could Not Find The Courage To Destroy His Father'S Illusions. He

Found,  Too,  That He Couldn'T Talk To His Mother About Things That He Had

Seen And Learned At College. Like Most Of His Friends,  He Felt That "The

Folks Wouldn'T Understand."

 

He Spent The First Two Months At Home Working On The Farm,  But When

Norry Parker Invited Him To Visit Him For A Month On Long Island Sound,

Hugh Accepted The Invitation And Departed For The Parker Summer Cottage

In High Feather. He Was Eager To See Norry Again,  But He Was Even More

Eager To See New York. He Had Just Celebrated His Twentieth Birthday,

And He Considered It Disgraceful That He Had Never Visited The "Big

City," As New York Was Always Known At Sanford. Norry Met Him At Grand

Central,  A Livelier And More Robust Norry Than Hugh Had Ever Seen. The

Boy Actually Seemed Like A Boy And Not A Sprite; His Cheeks Were Tanned

Almost Brown,  And His Gray Eyes Danced With Excitement When He Spotted

Hugh In The Crowd.

 

"Gee,  Hugh,  I'M Glad To See You," He Exclaimed,  Shaking Hugh'S Hand

Joyously. "I'M Tickled To Death That You Could Come."

 

"So Am I," Said Hugh Heartily,  Really Happy To See Norry Looking So

Well,  And Thrilled To Be In New York. "Gosh,  You Look Fine. I Hardly

Know You. Where'D You Get All The Pep?"

 

"Swimming' And Sailing. This Is The First Summer I'Ve Been Well Enough

To Swim All I Want To. Oh,  It'S Pretty Down Where We Are. You'Ll Love

The Nights,  Hugh. The Sound Is Wonderful."

 

"I'Ll Bet. Well,  Where Do We Go From Here? Say,  This Is Certainly A

Whale Of A Station,  Isn'T It? It Makes Me Feel Like A Hick."

 

"Oh,  You'Ll Get Over That Soon Enough," Norry,  The Seasoned New Yorker,

Assured Him Easily. "We'Re Going Right Out To The Cottage. It'S Too Hot

To-Day To Run Around The City,  But We'Ll Come In Soon And You Can Give

It The Once-Over." He Took Hugh'S Arm And Led Him Out Of The Station.

 

It Had Never Entered Hugh'S Mind That Norry'S Father Might Be Rich. He

Had Noticed That Norry'S Clothes Were Very Well Tailored,  And Norry Had

Told Him That His Violin Was A Cremona,  But The Boy Was Not Lavish With

Money And Never Talked About It At All. Hugh Was Therefore Surprised And

A Little Startled To See Norry Walk Up To An Expensive Limousine With A

Uniformed Chauffeur At The Wheel. He Wondered If The Parkers Weren'T Too

High-Hat For Him?

 

"We'Ll Go Right Home,  Martin," Norry Said To The Chauffeur. "Get In,

Hugh."

 

The Parker Cottage Was A Short Distance From New Rochelle. It Was A

Beautiful Place,  Hardly In The Style Of A Newport "Cottage" But Roomy

And Very Comfortable. It Was Not Far From The Water,  And The Parkers

Owned Their Own Boat-House.

 

Mrs. Parker Was On The Veranda When The Car Drew Up At The Steps.

 

"Hello,  Mother," Norry Called.

 

She Got Up And Ran Lightly Down The Steps,  Her Hand Held Out In Welcome

Chapter 15 Pg 111

To Hugh.

 

"I Know That You Are Hugh Carver," She Said In a Beautifully Modulated

Voice,  "And I Am Really Delighted To Meet You. Norry Has Talked So Much

About You That I Should Have Felt Cheated If You Hadn'T Come."

 

Hugh'S Fears Immediately Departed. "I Should Have Myself," He Replied.

"It Was Awfully Good Of You To Invite Me."

 

After Meeting Norry'S Father And Mother,  Hugh Understood The Boy

Better. Mrs. Parker Was Both Charming And Pretty,  A Delightful Woman Who

Played The Piano With Professional Skill. Mr. Parker Was An Artist,  A

Portrait-Painter,  And He Got Prices For His Pictures That Staggered Hugh

When Norry Mentioned Them Casually. He Was A Quiet,  Grave Man With Gray

Eyes Like His Son'S.

 

When He Had A Minute Alone With Hugh,  He Said To Him With Simple

Sincerity: "You Have Been Very Kind To Norry,  And We Are Grateful. He Is

A Strange,  Poetic Lad Who Needs The Kind Of Understanding Friendship You

Have Given Him. We Should Have Been Deeply Disappointed If You Hadn'T

Been Able To Visit Us."

 

The Expressions Of Gratitude Embarrassed Hugh,  But They Made Him Feel

Sure Of His Welcome; And Once He Was Sure Of That He Began To Enjoy

Himself As He Never Had Before. Before The Month Was Out,  He Had Made

Many Visits To New York And Was Able To Talk About Both The Ritz And

Macdougal Alley With Elaborate Casualness When He Returned To College.

He And Norry Went Swimming Nearly Every Day And Spent Hours Sailing On

The Sound.

 

Norry Introduced Him To The Many Girls Who Had Summer Homes Near The

Parker Cottage. They Were A New Type To Him,  Boarding-School Products,

Sure Of Themselves,  "Finished" With A High Polish That Glittered

Effectively,  Daringly Frank Both In Their Speech And Their Actions,

Beautiful Dancers,  Good Swimmers,  Full Of "Dirt," As They Called Gossip,

And As Offhand With Men As They Were With Each Other. Within A Week Hugh

Got Over His Prejudice Against Women'S Smoking. Nearly Every Woman He

Met,  Including Mrs. Parker,  Smoked,  And Every Girl Carried Her

Cigarette-Case.

 

Most Of The Girls Treated Norry As If He Were A Very Nice Small Boy,  But

They Adopted A Different Attitude Toward Hugh. They Flirted With Him,

Perfected His "Petting" Technique,  Occasionally Treated Him To A Drink,

And Made No Pretense Of Hiding His Attraction For Them.

 

At First Hugh Was Startled And A Little Repelled,  But He Soon Grew To

Like The Frankness,  The Petting,  And The Liquor; And He Was Having A

Much Too Exciting Time To Pause Often For Criticism Of Himself Or

Anybody Else. It Was During The Last Week Of His Visit That He Fell In

Love.

 

He And Norry Were Standing Near The Float Watching A Number Of Swimmers.

Suddenly Hugh Was Attracted By A Girl He Had Never Seen Before. She Wore

A Red One-Piece Bathing-Suit That Revealed Every Curve Of Her Slender,

Boyish Figure. She Noticed Norry And Threw Up Her Arm In Greeting.

 

"Who Is She?" Hugh Demanded Eagerly.

Chapter 15 Pg 112

 

"Cynthia Day. She'S Just Back From Visiting Friends In Maine. She'S An

Awfully Good Swimmer. Watch Her." The Girl Poised For An Instant On The

Edge Of The Float And Then Dived Gracefully Into The Water,  Striking Out

With A Powerful Overhand Stroke For Another Float A Quarter Of A Mile

Out In The Sound. The Boys Watched Her Red Cap As She Rounded The Float

And Started Back,  Swimming Easily And Expertly. When She Reached The

Beach,  She Ran Out Of The Water,  Rubbed Her Hands Over Her Face,  And

Then Strolled Over To Norry.

 

Her Hair Was Concealed By A Red Bathing-Cap,  But Hugh Guessed That It

Was Brown; At Any Rate,  Her Eyes Were Brown And Very Large. She Had An

Impudent Little Nose And Full Red Lips.

 

"'Lo,  Norry," She Said,  Holding Out Her Hand. "How'S The Infant?"

 

"Oh,  I'M Fine. This Is My Friend Hugh Carver."

 

"I'Ve Heard About You," She Said As They Shook Hands. "I Only Got Back

Last Night,  But Everybody Seems To Be Digging Dirt About Norry'S Friend.

Three Of My Friends Are Enemies On Account Of You,  And One Of 'Em Says

She'S Going In Swimming Some Day And Forget To Come Back If You Don'T

Give Her A Little More Time."

 

Hugh Blushed,  But He Had Learned A Few Things In The Past Weeks.

 

"I Wish They Would Tell Me About It," He Said With A Fair Assumption Of

Ease. "Why Didn'T You Come Back Sooner?" He Was Pleased With That

Speech. He Wouldn'T Have Dared It A Month Before.

 

The Brown Eyes Smiled At Him. "Because I Didn'T Know You Were Here. You

Haven'T Got A Cigarette About You,  Have You? Norry'S Useless When It

Comes To Smokes."

 

Hugh Did Have A Package Of Cigarettes. She Took One,  Put It In Her

Mouth,  And Waited For Hugh To Light It For Her. When He Did,  She Gazed

Curiously Over The Flame At Him. She Puffed The Cigarette For A Moment

And Then Said,  "You Look Like A Good Egg. Let'S Talk." She Threw Herself

Down On The Sand,  And The Boys Sat Down Beside Her.

 

From That Moment Hugh Was Lost. For The Remaining Days Of The Visit He

Spent Every Possible Moment With Cynthia,  Fascinated By Her Chatter,

Thrilled By The Touch Of Her Hand. She Made No Objection When He Offered

Shyly To Kiss Her; She Quietly Put Her Arms Around His Neck And Turned

Her Face Up To His--And Her Kisses Set Him Aflame.

 

For Once,  He Did Not Want To Return To College,  And When He Arrived In

Haydensville He Felt None Of His Usual Enthusiasm. The Initiation Of The

Freshmen Amused Him Only Slightly,  And The Football Games Did Not Seem

So Important As They Had The Two Previous Years. A Letter From Cynthia

Was The Most Important Thing In The World,  And She Wrote Good Letters,

Chatty,  Gay,  And Affectionate.

 

Custom Made It Necessary For Him To Room In The Fraternity House. It Was

An Unwritten Law Of Nu Delta That All Members Live In The House Their

Last Two Years,  And Hugh Hardly Dared To Contest The Law. There Were

Four Men In The Chapter Whom He Thoroughly Liked And With Whom He Would

Have Been Glad To Room,  But They All Had Made Their Arrangements By The

Chapter 15 Pg 113

Time He Spoke To Them; So He Was Forced To Accept Paul Vinton'S

Invitation To Room With Him.

 

Vinton Was A Cheerful Youth With Too Much Money And Not Enough Sense. He

Wanted Desperately To Be Thought A Good Fellow,  A "Regular Guy," And He

Was Willing To Buy Popularity If Necessary By Standing Treat To Any One

Every Chance He Got. He Was Known All Over The Campus As A "Prize

Sucker."

 

He Bored Hugh Excessively By His Confidences And Almost Offensive

Generosity. He Always Had A Supply Of Scotch Whisky On Hand,  And He

Offered It To Him So Constantly That Hugh Drank Too Much Because It Was

Easier And Pleasanter To Drink Than To Refuse.

 

Tucker Had Graduated,  And The New President,  Leonard Gates,  Was An

Altogether Different Sort Of Man. There Had Been A Fight In The

Fraternity Over His Election. The "Regular Guys" Opposed Him And Offered

One Of Their Own Number As A Candidate. Gates,  However,  Was Prominent In

Campus Activities And Had His Own Following In The House; As A Result,

He Was Elected By A Slight Margin.

 

He Won Hugh'S Loyalty At The First Fraternity Meeting After He Took The

Chair. "Some Things Are Going To Be Changed In This House," He Said

Sternly,  "Or I Will Bring Influence To Bear That Will Change Them."

Every One Knew That He Referred To The National President Of The

Fraternity. "There Will Be No More Drunken Brawls In This House Such As

We Had At The Last House Dance. Any One Who Brings A Cheap Woman Into

This House At A Dance Will Hear From It. Both My Fiancee And My Sister

Were At The Last Dance. I Do Not Intend That They Shall Be Insulted

Again. This Is Not A Bawdy-House,  And I Want Some Of You To Remember

That."

 

He Tried Very Hard To Pass A Rule,  Such As Many Of The Fraternities Had,

That No One Could Bring Liquor Into The House And That There Should Be

No Gambling. He Failed,  However. The Brothers Took His Scolding About

The Dance Because Most Of Them Were Heartily Ashamed Of That Occasion;

But They Announced That They Did Not Intend To Have The Chapter Turned

Into The S.C.A.,  Which Was The Sanford Christian Association. It Would

Have Been Well For Hugh If The Law Had Been Passed. Vinton'S Insistent

Generosity Was Rapidly Turning Him Into A Steady Drinker. He Did Not Get

Drunk,  But He Was Taking Down More High-Balls Than Were Good For Him.

 

Outside Of His Drinking,  However,  He Was Leading A Virtuous And,  On The

Whole,  An Industrious Life. He Was Too Much In Love With Cynthia Day To

Let His Mind Dwell On Other Women,  And He Had Become Sufficiently

Interested In His Studies To Like Them For Their Own Sake.

 

A Change Had Come Over The Campus. It Was Inexplicable But Highly

Significant. There Had Been Evidences Of It The Year Before,  But Now It

Became So Evident That Even Some Of The Members Of The Faculty Were

Aware Of It. Intolerance Seemed To Be Dying,  And The Word "Wet" Was

Heard Less Often. The Undergraduates Were Forsaking Their Old Gods. The

Wave Of Materialism Was Swept Back By An In-Rushing Tide Of Idealism.

Students Suddenly Ceased To Concentrate In economics And Filled The

English And Philosophy Classes To Overflowing.

Chapter 15 Pg 114

No One Was Able Really To Explain The Causes For The Change,  But It Was

There And Welcome. The "Sanford Literary Magazine," Which Had Been

Slowly Perishing For Several Years,  Became Almost As Popular As The "Cap

And Bells," The Comic Magazine,  Which Coined Money By Publishing Risque

Jokes And Pictures Of Slightly Dressed Women. A Poetry Magazine Daringly

Made Its Appearance On The Campus And,  To The Surprise Of Its Editors,

Was Received So Cordially That They Were Able To Pay The Printer'S Bill.

 

It Became The Fashion To Read. Instructors In english Were Continually

Being Asked What The Best New Books Were Or If Such And Such A Book Was

All That It Was "Cracked Up To Be." If The Instructor Hadn'T Read The

Book,  He Was Treated To A Look Of Contempt That Sent Him Hastening To

The Library.

 

Of Course,  Not All Of The Undergraduates Took To Reading And Thinking;

The Millennium Had Not Arrived,  But The Intelligent Majority Began To

Read And Discuss Books Openly,  And The Intelligent Majority Ruled The

Campus.

 

Hugh Was One Of The Most Enthusiastic Of The Readers. He Was Taking A

Course In Nineteenth-Century Poetry With Blake,  The Head Of The English

Department. His Other Instructors Either Bored Him Or Left Him Cold,  But

Blake Turned Each Class Hour Into A Thrilling Experience. He Was A

Handsome Man With Gray Hair,  Dark Eyes,  And A Magnificent Voice. He

Taught Poetry Almost Entirely By Reading It,  Only Occasionally

Interpolating An Explanatory Remark,  And He Read Beautifully. His

Reading Was Dramatic,  Almost Tricky; But It Made The Poems Live For His

Students,  And They Reveled In His Classes.

 

Hugh'S Junior Year Was Made Almost Beautiful By That Poetry Course And

By His Adoration For Cynthia. He Was Writing Verses Constantly--And He

Found "Cynthia" An Exceedingly Troublesome Word; It Seemed As If Nothing

Would Rime With It. At Times He Thought Of Taking To Free Verse,  But The

Results Of His Efforts Did Not Satisfy Him. He Always Had The Feeling

That He Had Merely Chopped Up Some Rather Bad Prose; And He Was

Invariably Right. Cynthia Wrote Him That She Loved The Poems He Sent

Her Because They Were So Passionate. He Blushed When He Read Her Praise.

It Disturbed Him. He Wished That She Had Used A Different Word.

 

Chapter 16 Pg 115

 

For The First Term Hugh Slid Comfortably Down A Well Oiled Groove Of

Routine. He Went To The Movies Regularly,  Wrote As Regularly To Cynthia

And Thought About Her Even More,  Read Enormous Quantities Of Poetry,

"Bulled" With His Friends,  Attended All The Athletic Contests,  Played

Cards Occasionally,  And Received His Daily Liquor From Vinton. He No

Longer Protested When Vinton Offered Him A Drink; He Accepted It As A

Matter Of Course,  And He Had Almost Completely Forgotten That "Smoking

Wasn'T Good For A Runner." He Had Just About Decided That He Wasn'T A

Runner,  Anyway.

Chapter 16 Pg 116

 

One Evening In early Spring He Met George Winsor As He Was Crossing The

Campus.

 

"Hello,  George. Where Are You Going?"

 

"Over To Ted Alien'S Room. Big Poker Party To-Night. Don'T You Want To

Sit In?"

 

"You Told Me Last Week That You Had Sworn Off Poker. How Come You'Re

Playing Again So Soon?" Hugh Strolled Lazily Along With Winsor.

 

"Not Poker,  Hugh--Craps. I'Ve Sworn Off Craps For Good,  And Maybe I'Ll

Swear Off Poker After To-Night. I'M Nearly A Hundred Berries To The Good

Right Now,  And I Can Afford To Play If I Want To."

 

"I'M A Little Ahead Myself," Said Hugh. "I Don'T Play Very Often,

Though,  Except In The House When The Fellows Insist. I Can'T Shoot Craps

At All,  And I Get Tired Of Cards After A Couple Of Hours."

 

"I'M A Damn Fool To Play," Winsor Asserted Positively,  "A Plain Damn

Fool,  I Oughtn'T To Waste My Time At It,  But I'M A Regular Fiend For The

Game. I Get A Great Kick Out Of It. How'S To Sit In With Us? There'S

Only Going To Be Half A Dozen Fellows. Two-Bit Limit."

 

"Yeah,  It'Ll Start With A Two-Bit Limit,  But After An Hour Deuces'Ll Be

Wild All Over The Place And The Sky Will Be The Limit. I'Ve Sat In Those

Games Before."

 

Winsor Laughed. "Guess You'Re Right,  But What'S The Odds? Better Shoot A

Few Hands."

 

"Well,  All-Right,  But I Can'T Stay Later Than Eleven. I'Ve Got A Quiz In

Eccy To-Morrow,  And I'Ve Got To Bone Up On It Some Time To-Night."

 

"I'Ve Got That Quiz,  Too. I'Ll Leave With You At Eleven."

 

Winsor And Hugh Entered The Dormitory And Climbed The Stairs. Allen'S

Door Was Open,  And Several Undergraduates Were Lolling Around The Room,

Smoking And Chatting. They Welcomed The New-Comers With Shouts Of "Hi,

Hugh," And "Hi,  George."

 

Allen Had A Large Round Table In The Center Of His Study,  And The Boys

Soon Had It Cleared For Action. Allen Tossed The Cards Upon The Table,

Produced Several Ash-Trays,  And Then Carefully Locked The Door.

 

"Keep An Ear Open For Mac," He Admonished His Friends; "He'S Warned Me

Twice Now," "Mac" Was The Night-Watchman,  And He Had A Way Of Dropping

In Unexpectedly On Gambling Parties. "Here Are The Chips. You Count 'Em

Out,  George. Two-Bit Limit."

 

The Boys Drew Up Chairs To The Table,  Lighted Cigarettes Or Pipes,  And

Began The Game. Hugh Had Been Right; The "Two-Bit Limit" Was Soon

Lifted,  And Allen Urged His Guests To Go As Far As They Liked.

 

There Were Ugly Rumors About Allen Around The Campus. He Was Good

Chapter 16 Pg 117

Looking,  Belonged To A Fraternity In High Standing,  Wore Excellent

Clothes,  And Did Fairly Well In His Studies; But The Rumors Persisted.

There Were Students Who Insisted That He Hadn'T The Conscience Of A

Snake,  And A Good Many Of Them Hinted That No Honest Man Ever Had Such

Consistently Good Luck At Cards And Dice.

 

The Other Boys Soon Got Heated And Talkative,  But Allen Said Little

Besides Announcing His Bids. His Blue Eyes Remained Coldly

Expressionless Whether He Won Or Lost The Hand; His Crisp,  Curly Brown

Hair Remained Neatly Combed And Untouched By A Nervous Hand; His Lips

Parted Occasionally In a Quiet Smile: He Was The Perfect Gambler,  Never

Excited,  Always In absolute Control Of Himself.

 

Hugh Marveled At The Control As The Evening Wore On. He Was Excited,

And,  Try As He Would,  He Could Not Keep His Excitement From Showing.

Luck,  However,  Was With Him; By Ten O'Clock He Was Seventy-Five Dollars

Ahead,  And Most Of It Was Allen'S Money.

 

Hugh Passed By Three Hands In Succession,  Unwilling To Take Any Chances.

He Had Decided To "Play Close," Never Betting Unless He Held Something

Worth Putting His Money On.

 

Allen Dealt The Fourth Hand. "Ante Up," He Said Quietly. The Five Other

Men Followed His Lead In Tossing Chips Into The Center Of The Table. He

Looked At His Hand. "Two Blue Ones If You Want To Stay In." Winsor And

Two Of The Men Threw Down Their Cards,  But Hugh And A Lad Named Mandel

Each Shoved Two Blue Chips Into The Pot.

 

Hugh Had Three Queens And An Ace. "One Card," He Said To Allen. Allen

Tossed Him The Card,  And Hugh'S Heart Leaped When He Saw That It Was An

Ace.

 

"Two Cards,  Ted," Mandel Requested,  Nervously Crushing His Cigarette In

An Ash-Tray. He Picked Up The Cards One At A Time,  Lifting Each Slowly

By One Corner,  And Peeking At It As If He Were Afraid That A Sudden Full

View Would Blast Him To Eternity. His Face Did Not Change Expression As

He Added The Cards To The Three That He Held In His Hand.

 

"I'M Sitting Pretty," Allen Remarked Casually,  Picking Up The Five

Cards That He Had Laid Down Before He Dealt.

 

The Betting Began,  Hugh Nervous,  Openly Excited,  Mandel Stonily Calm,

Allen Completely At Ease. At First The Bets Were For A Dollar,  But They

Gradually Rose To Five. Mandel Threw Down His Cards.

 

"Fight It Out," He Said Morosely. "I'Ve Thrown Away Twenty-Five Bucks,

And I'Ll Be Damned If I'M Going To Throw Away Any More To See Your

Four-Flushes."

 

Allen Lifted A Pile Of Chips And Let Them Fall Lightly,  Clicking A Rapid

Staccato. "It'Ll Cost You Ten Dollars To See My Hand,  Hugh," He Said

Quietly.

 

"It'Ll Cost You Twenty If You Want To See Mine," Hugh Responded,  Tossing

The Equivalent To Thirty Dollars Into The Pot. He Watched Allen Eagerly,

But Allen'S Face Remained Quite Impassive As He Raised Hugh Another Ten.

 

The Four Boys Who Weren'T Playing Leaned Forward,  Pipes Or Cigarettes In

Chapter 16 Pg 118

Their Mouths,  Their Stomachs Pressed Against The Table,  Their Eyes

Narrowed And Excited. The Air Was A Stench Of Stale Smoke; The Silence

Between Bets Was Electric.

 

The Betting Continued,  Hugh Sure That Allen Was Bluffing,  But Allen

Never Failed To Raise Him Ten Dollars On Every Bet. Finally Hugh Had A

Hundred Dollars In The Pot And Dared Not Risk More On His Hand.

 

"I Think You'Re Bluffing,  Goddamn It," He Said,  His Voice Shrill And

Nervous. "I'Ll Call You. Show Your Stinkin' Hand."

 

"Oh,  Not So Stinkin'," Allen Replied Lightly. "I'Ve Got Four Of A Kind,

All Of 'Em Kings. Let'S See Your Three Deuces."

 

He Tossed Down His Hand,  And Hugh Slumped In His Chair At The Sight Of

The Four Kings. He Shoved The Pile Of Chips Toward Allen. "Take The Pot,

Damn You. Of All The Bastard Luck. Look!" He Slapped Down His Cards

Angrily. "A Full House,  Queens Up. Christ!" He Burst Into A Flood Of

Obscenity,  The Other Boys Listening Sympathetically,  All Except Allen

Who Was Carefully Stacking The Chips.

 

In A Few Minutes Hugh'S Anger Died. He Remembered That He Was Only About

Twenty-Five Dollars Behind And That He Had An Hour In Which To Recover

Them. His Face Became Set And Hard; His Hands Lost Their Jerky

Eagerness. He Played Carefully,  Never Daring To Enter A Big Pot,  Never

Betting For More Than His Hands Were Worth.

 

As The Bets Grew Larger,  The Room Grew Quieter. Every One Was Smoking

Constantly; The Air Was Heavy With Smoke,  And The Stench Grew More And

More Foul. Outside Of A Soft,  "I Raise You Twenty," Or,  Even,  "Fifty

Bucks If You Want To See My Hand," A Muttered Oath Or A Request To Buy

Chips,  There Was Hardly A Word Said. The Excitement Was So Intense That

It Hurt; The Expletives Smelled Of The Docks.

 

At Times There Was More Than Five Hundred Dollars In a Pot,  And Five

Times Out Of Seven When The Pot Was Big,  Allen Won It. Win Or Lose,  He

Continued Cool And Calm,  At Times Smoking A Pipe,  Other Times Puffing

Nonchalantly At A Cigarette.

 

The Acrid Smoke Cut Hugh'S Eyes; They Smarted And Pained,  But He

Continued To Light Cigarette After Cigarette,  Drawing The Smoke Deep

Into His Lungs,  Hardly Aware Of The Fact That They Hurt.

 

He Won And Lost,  Won And Lost,  But Gradually He Won Back The Twenty-Five

Dollars And A Little More. The College Clock Struck Eleven. He Knew That

He Ought To Go,  But He Wondered If He Could Quit With Honor When He Was

Ahead.

 

"I Ought To Go," He Said Hesitatingly. "I Told George When I Said That

I'D Sit In That I'D Have To Leave At Eleven. I'Ve Got An Eccy Quiz

To-Morrow That I'Ve Got To Study For."

 

"Oh,  Don'T Leave Now," One Of The Men Said Excitedly. "Why,  Hell,  Man,

The Game'S Just Getting Warm."

 

"I Know," Hugh Agreed,  "And I Hate Like Hell To Quit,  But I'Ve Really

Got To Beat It. Besides,  The Stakes Are Too Big For Me. I Can'T Afford A

Chapter 16 Pg 119

Game Like This."

 

"You Can Afford It As Well As I Can," Mandel Said Irritably. "I'M Over

Two Hundred Berries In The Hole Right Now,  And You Can Goddamn Well Bet

That I'M Not Going To Leave Until I Get Them Back."

 

"Well,  I'M A Hundred And Fifty To The Bad," Winsor Announced Miserably,

"But I'Ve Got To Go. If I Don'T Hit That Eccy,  I'M Going To Be Out Of

Luck." He Shoved Back His Chair. "I Hate Like Hell To Leave; But I

Promised Hugh That I'D Leave With Him At Eleven,  And I'Ve Got To Do It."

 

Allen Had Been Quite Indifferent When Hugh Said That He Was Leaving.

Hugh Was Obviously Small Money,  And Allen Had No Time To Waste On

Chicken-Feed,  But Winsor Was A Different Matter.

 

"You Don'T Want To Go,  George,  When You'Re In The Hole. Better Stick

Around. Maybe You'Ll Win It Back. Your Luck Can'T Be Bad All Night."

 

"You'Re Right," Said Winsor,  Stretching Mightily. "It Can'T Be Bad All

Night,  But I Can'T Hang Around All Night To Watch It Change. You'Re

Welcome To The Hundred And Fifty,  Ted,  But Some Night Soon I'M Coming

Over And Take It Away From You."

 

Allen Laughed. "Any Time You Say,  George."

 

Hugh And Winsor Settled Their Accounts,  Then Stood Up,  Aching And Weary,

Their Muscles Cramped From Three Hours Of Sitting And Nervous Tension.

They Said Brief Good Nights,  Unlocked The Door--They Heard Allen Lock It

Behind Them--And Left Their Disgruntled Friends,  Glad To Be Out Of The

Noisome Odor Of The Room.

 

"God,  What Luck!" Winsor Exclaimed As They Started Down The Hall. "I'M

Off Allen For Good. That Boy Wins Big Pots Too Regularly And Always

Loses The Little Ones. I Bet He'S A Cold-Deck Artist Or Something."

 

"He'S Something All Right," Hugh Agreed. "Cripes,  I Feel Dirty And

Stinko. I Feel As If I'D Been In a Den."

 

"You Have Been. Say,  What'S That?" They Had Almost Traversed The Length

Of The Long Hall When Winsor Stopped Suddenly,  Taking Hugh By The Arm. A

Door Was Open,  And They Could Hear Somebody Reading.

 

"What'S What?" Hugh Asked,  A Little Startled By The Suddenness Of

Winsor'S Question.

 

"Listen. That Poem,  I'Ve Heard It Somewhere Before. What Is It?"

 

Hugh Listened A Moment And Then Said: "Oh,  That'S The Poem Prof Blake

Read Us The Other Day--You Know,  'Marpessa.' It'S About The Shepherd,

_Apollo_,  And _Marpessa_. It'S Great Stuff. Listen."

 

They Remained Standing In The Deserted Hall,  The Voice Coming Clearly To

Them Through The Open Doorway. "It'S Freddy Fowler," Winsor Whispered.

"He Can Sure Read."

 

The Reading Stopped,  And They Heard Fowler Say To Some One,  Presumably

His Room-Mate: "This Is The Part That I Like Best. Get It," Then He Read

Chapter 16 Pg 120

_Idas'S_ Plea To _Marpessa_:

 

 

 

 

                "'After Such Argument What Can I Plead?

                  Or What Pale Promise Make? Yet Since It Is

                  In Women To Pity Rather Than To Aspire,

                  A Little I Will Speak. I Love Thee Then

                  Not Only For Thy Body Packed With Sweet

                  Of All This World,  That Cup Of Brimming June,

                  That Jar Of Violet Wine Set In The Air,

                  That Palest Rose Sweet In The Night Of Life;

                  Nor For That Stirring Bosom,  All Besieged

                  By Drowsing Lovers,  Or Thy Perilous Hair;

                  Nor For That Face That Might Indeed Provoke

                  Invasion Of Old Cities; No,  Nor All

                  Thy Freshness Stealing On Me Like Strange Sleep.'"

 

 

 

 

Winsor'S Hand Tightened On Hugh'S Arm,  And The Two Boys Stood Almost

Rigid Listening To The Young Voice,  Which Was Trembling With Emotion,

Rich With Passion:

 

 

 

 

                "'Not Only For This Do I Love Thee,  But

                  Because Infinity Upon Thee Broods;

                  And Thou Are Full Of Whispers And Of Shadows.

                  Thou Meanest What The Sea Has Striven To Say

                  So Long,  And Yearned Up The Cliffs To Tell;

                  Thou Art What All The Winds Have Uttered Not,

                  What The Still Night Suggesteth To The Heart.

                  Thy Voice Is Like To Music Heard Ere Birth,

                  Some Spirit Lute Touched On A Spirit Sea;

                  Thy Face Remembered Is From Other Worlds,

                  It Has Been Died For,  Though I Know Not When,

                  It Has Been Sung Of,  Though I Know Not Where.'"

 

 

 

 

"God," Winsor Whispered,  "That'S Beautiful."

 

"Hush. This Is The Best Part."

 

 

 

 

                "'It Has The Strangeness Of The Luring West,

                  And Of Sad Sea-Horizons; Beside Thee

                  I Am Aware Of Other Times And Lands,

                  Of Birth Far Back,  Of Lives In Many Stars.

                  O Beauty Lone And Like A Candle Clear

                  In This Dark Country Of The World! Thou Art

Chapter 16 Pg 121

                  My Woe,  My Early Light,  My Music Dying.'"

 

 

 

 

Hugh And Winsor Remained Silent While The Young Voice Went On Reading

_Maressa'S_ Reply,  Her Gentle Refusal Of The God And Her Proud

Acceptance,  Of The Mortal. Finally They Heard The Last Words:

 

 

 

 

                "When She Had Spoken,  Idas With One Cry

                 Held Her,  And There Was Silence; While The God

                 In anger Disappeared. Then Slowly They,

                 He Looking Downward,  And She Gazing Up,

                 Into The Evening Green Wandered Away."

 

 

 

 

When The Voice Paused,  The Poem Done,  The Two Boys Walked Slowly Down

The Hall,  Down The Steps,  And Out Into The Cool Night Air. Neither Said

A Word Until They Were Half-Way Across The Campus. Then Winsor Spoke

Softly:

 

"God! Wasn'T That Beautiful?"

 

"Yes--Beautiful." Hugh'S Voice Was Hardly More Than A Whisper.

"Beautiful.... It--It--Oh,  It Makes Me--Kinda Ashamed."

 

"Me,  Too. Poker When We Can Have That! We'Re Awful Fools,  Hugh."

 

"Yes--Awful Fools."

Chapter 17 Pg 122

Prom Came Early In May,  And Hugh Looked Forward To It Joyously,  Partly

Because It Would Be His First Prom And Partly Because Cynthia Was

Coming. Cynthia! He Thought Of Her Constantly,  Dreamed Of Her,  Wrote

Poems About Her And To Her. At Times His Longing For Her Swelled Into An

Ecstasy Of Desire That Racked And Tore Him. He Was Lost In Love,  His

Moods Sweeping Him From Lyric Happiness To Black Despair. He Wrote To

Her Several Times A Week,  And Between Letters He Took Long Walks

Composing Dithyrambic Epistles That Fortunately Were Never Written.

 

When He Received Her Letter Saying That She Would Come To Prom,  He

Yelled Like A Lunatic,  Pounded The Astonished Vinton On The Back,  And

Raced Down-Stairs To The Living-Room.

 

Chapter 17 Pg 123

"She'S Coming!" He Shouted.

 

There Were Several Men In The Room,  And They All Turned And Looked At

Him,  Some Of Them Grinning Broadly.

 

"What Th' Hell,  Hugh?" Leonard Gates Asked Amiably. "Who'S Coming? Who'S

She?"

 

Hugh Blushed And Shuffled His Feet. He Knew That He Had Laid Himself

Open To A "Royal Razzing," But He Proceeded To Bluff Himself Out Of The

Dilemma.

 

"She? Oh,  Yes,  She. Well,  She Is She. Altogether Divine,  Len." He Was

Trying Hard To Be Casual And Flippant,  But His Eyes Were Dancing And His

Lips Trembled With Smiles.

 

Gates Grinned At Him. "A Poor Bluff,  Old Man--A Darn Poor Bluff. You'Re

In Love,  _Pauvre Enfant_,  And I'M Afraid That You'Re In a Very Bad Way.

Come On,  Tell Us The Lady'S Name,  Her Pedigree,  And List Of Charms."

 

Hugh Grinned Back At Gates. "Chase Yourself," He Said Gaily. "I Won'T

Tell You A Blamed Thing About Her."

 

"You'D Better," Said Jim Saunders From The Depths Of A Leather Chair.

"Is She The Jane Whose Picture Adorns Your Desk?"

 

"Yeah," Hugh Admitted. "How Do You Like Her?"

 

"Very Fair,  Very Fair." Saunders Was Magnificently Lofty. "I'Ve Seen

Better,  Of Course,  But I'Ve Seen Worse,  Too. Not Bad--Um,  Not Very Bad."

 

The "Razzing" Had Started,  And Hugh Lost His Nerve.

 

"Jim,  You Can Go To Hell," He Said Definitely,  Prepared To Rush

Up-Stairs Before Saunders Could Reply. "You Don'T Know A Queen When You

See One. Why,  Cynthia--"

 

"Cynthia!" Four Of The Boys Shouted. "So Her Name'S Cynthia. That'S--"

 

But Hugh Was Half-Way Up-Stairs,  Embarrassed And Delighted.

 

The Girls Arrived On Thursday,  The Train Which Brought Most Of Them

Reaching Haydensville Early In The Afternoon. Hugh Paced Up And Down The

Station,  Trying To Keep Up A Pretense Of A Conversation With Two Or

Three Others. He Gave The Wrong Reply Twice And Then Decided To Say

Nothing More. He Listened With His Whole Body For The First Whistle Of

The Train,  And So Great Was The Chatter Of The Hundreds Of Waiting

Youths That He Never Heard It. Suddenly The Engine Rounded A Curve,  And

A Minute Later The Train Stopped Before The Station. Immediately The

Boys Began To Mill Around The Platform Like Cattle About To Stampede,

Standing On Their Toes To Look Over The Heads Of Their Comrades,

Shoving,  Shouting,  Dancing In Their Impatience.

 

Girls Began To Descend The Steps Of The Cars. The Stampede Broke. A

Youth Would See "His Girl" And Start Through The Crowd For Her. Dozens

Spotted Their Girls At The Same Time And Tried To Run Through The Crowd.

They Bumped Into One Another,  Laughed Joyously,  Bumped Into Somebody

Chapter 17 Pg 124

Else,  And Finally Reached The Girl.

 

When Hugh Eventually Saw Cynthia Standing On A Car Platform Near Him,  He

Shouted To Her And Held His Hand High In Greeting. She Saw Him And Waved

Back,  At The Same Time Starting Down The Steps.

 

She Had A Little Scarlet Hat Pulled Down Over Her Curly Brown Hair,  And

She Wore A Simple Blue Traveling-Suit That Set Off Her Slender Figure

Perfectly. Her Eyes Seemed Bigger And Browner Than Ever,  Her Nose More

Impudently Tilted,  Her Mouth More Supremely Irresistible. Her Cheeks

Were Daintily Rouged,  Her Eyebrows Plucked Into A Thin Arch. She Was New

York From Her Small Pumps To The Expensively Simple Scarlet Hat.

 

Hugh Dashed Several People Aside And Grabbed Her Hand,  Squeezing It

Unmercifully.

 

"Oh,  Gee,  Cynthia,  I'M Glad To See You. I Thought The Darn Train Was

Never Going To Get Here. How Are You? Gee,  You'Re Looking Great,

Wonderful. Where'S Your Suit-Case?" He Fairly Stuttered In His

Excitement,  His Words Toppling Over Each Other.

 

"I'M Full Of Pep. You Look Wonderful. There'S My Suit-Case,  The Big

Black One. Give The Porter Two Bits Or Something. I Haven'T Any Change."

Hugh Tipped The Porter,  Picked Up The Suit-Case With One Hand,  And Took

Cynthia By The Arm With The Other,  Carefully Piloting Her Through The

Noisy,  Surging Crowd Of Boys And Girls,  All Of Them Talking At Top Speed

And In High,  Excited Voices.

 

Once Hugh And Cynthia Were Off The Platform They Could Talk Without

Shouting.

 

"We'Ve Got To Walk Up The Hill," Hugh Explained Miserably. "I Couldn'T

Get A Car For Love Nor Money. I'M Awfully Sorry."

 

Cynthia Did A Dance-Step And Petted His Arm Happily. "What Do I Care?

I'M So--So Damn Glad To See You,  Hugh. You Look Nicer'N Ever--Just As

Clean And Washed And Sweet. Ooooh,  Look At Him Blush! Stop It Or I'Ll

Have To Kiss You Right Here. Stop It,  I Say."

 

But Hugh Went Right On Blushing. "Go Ahead," He Said Bravely. "I Wish

You Would."

 

Cynthia Laughed. "Like Fun You Do. You'D Die Of Embarrassment. But Your

Mouth Is An Awful Temptation. You Have The Sweetest Mouth,  Hugh. It'S So

Damn Kissable."

 

She Continued To Banter Him Until They Reached The Fraternity House.

"Where Do I Live?" She Demanded. "In Your Room,  I Hope."

 

"Yep. I'M Staying Down In Keller Hall With Norry Parker. His Room-Mate'S

Sick In The Hospital; So He'S Got Room For Me. Norry'S Going To See You

Later."

 

"Right-O. What Do We Do When I Get Six Pounds Of Dirt Washed Off And

Some Powder On My Nose?"

 

"Well,  We'Re Having A Tea-Dance Here At The House At Four-Thirty; But

Chapter 17 Pg 125

We'Ve Got An Hour Till Then,  And I Thought We'D Take A Walk. I Want To

Show You The College."

 

After Cynthia Had Repaired The Damages Of Travel And Had Been Introduced

To Hugh'S Fraternity Brothers And Their Girls,  She And Hugh Departed

For A Tour Of The Campus. The Lawns Were So Green That The Grass Seemed

To Be Bursting With Color; The Elms Waved Tiny New Leaves In a Faint

Breeze; The Walls Of The Buildings Were Speckled With Green Patches Of

Ivy. Cynthia Was Properly Awed By The Chapel And Enthusiastic Over The

Other Buildings. She Assured Hugh That Sanford Men Looked Awfully Smooth

In Their Knickers And White Flannels; In Fact,  She Said The Whole

College Seemed Jake To Her.

 

They Wandered Past The Lake And Into The Woods As If By Common Consent.

Once They Were Out Of Sight Of Passers-By,  Hugh Paused And Turned To

Cynthia. Without A Word She Stepped Into His Arms And Lifted Her Face To

His,  Hugh'S Heart Seemed To Stop; He Was So Hungry For That Kiss,  He Had

Waited So Long For It.

 

When He Finally Took His Lips From Hers,  Cynthia Whispered Softly,

"You'Re Such A Good Egg,  Hugh Honey,  Such A Damn Good Egg."

 

Hugh Could Say Nothing; He Just Held Her Close,  His Mind Swimming

Dizzily,  His Whole Being Atingle. For A Long Time He Held Her,  Kissing

Her,  Now Tenderly,  Now Almost Brutally,  Lost In a Thrill Of Passion.

 

Finally She Whispered Faintly: "No More,  Hugh. Not Now,  Dear."

 

Hugh Released Her Reluctantly. "I Love You So Damned Hard,  Cynthia," He

Said Huskily. "I--I Can'T Keep My Hands Off Of You."

 

"I Know," She Replied. "But We'Ve Got To Go Back. Wait A Minute,

Though. I Must Look Like The Devil." She Straightened Her Hat,  Powdered

Her Nose,  And Then Tucked Her Arm In His.

 

After The Tea-Dance And Dinner,  Hugh Left Her To Dress For The Dramatic

Society Musical Comedy That Was To Be Performed That Evening. He

Returned To Norry Parker'S Room And Prepared To Put On His Tuxedo.

 

"You Look As If Somebody Had Left You A Million Dollars," Norry Said To

Hugh. "I Don'T Think I Ever Saw Anybody Look So Happy. You--You Shine."

 

Hugh Laughed. "I Am Happy,  Norry,  Happy As Hell. I'M So Happy I Ache.

Oh,  God,  Cynthia'S Wonderful. I'M Crazy About Her,  Norry--Plumb Crazy."

 

Norry Had Known Cynthia For Years,  And Despite His Ingenuousness,  He Had

Noticed Some Of Her Characteristics.

 

"I Never Expected You To Fall In Love With Cynthia,  Hugh," He Said In

His Gentle Way. "I'M Awfully Surprised."

 

Hugh Was Humming A Strain From "Say It With Music" While He Undressed.

He Pulled Off His Trousers And Then Turned To Norry,  Who Was Sitting On

The Bed. "What Did You Say? You Said Something,  Didn'T You?"

 

Chapter 17 Pg 126

Norry Smiled. For Some Quite Inexplicable Reason,  He Suddenly Felt

Older Than Hugh.

 

"Yes,  I Said Something. I Said That I Never Expected You To Fall In Love

With Cynthia."

 

Hugh Paused In Taking Off His Socks. "Why Not?" He Demanded. "She'S

Wonderful."

 

"You'Re So Different."

 

"How Different? We Understand Each Other Perfectly. Of Course,  We Only

Saw Each Other For A Week When I Was Down At Your Place,  But We

Understood Each Other From The First. I Was Crazy About Her As Soon As I

Saw Her."

 

Norry Was Troubled. "I Don'T Think I Can Explain Exactly," He Said

Slowly. "Cynthia Runs With A Fast Crowd,  And She Smokes And Drinks--And

You'Re--Well,  You'Re Idealistic."

 

Hugh Pulled Off His Underclothes And Laughed As He Stuck His Feet Into

Sl

You Should Sue Charles For The Annuities,  And How That Advice Seemed

To Shock You. He Was Not Surprised At That,  Knowing Your Delicacy

And Friendship. But Sueing Charles,  You Will Find In a Short Time,

Has No Horror But In The Expression. If You Are Shocked,  You Will Be

Singly So; Charles Will Not Be So,  It Is My Firm Belief. As Soon As

Lavie Comes To You,  He Will Tell You How Far Mr. Crewe Has Embraced

That Idea,  And What Has Been The Consequence Of It. If You Will Sue

Lord H(Ollan)D And Mr. Powell,  Or (For?) Them,  In charles'S Name,

You Will Do Your Business. But I Do Not Say That It Is Time For

That.

 

What I Proposed To Lord Gower Was Only This,  And That Cannot Have

Nothing (Sic) Rebutant In It,  To Either Charles Or You. It Is This.

To Hear Charles'S Story Patiently,  But To Answer Or Reason With Him

As Little As Possible. To Desire That He Would Be So Good As To Meet

You At Your Own House,  With Mr. Wallis And Mr. Gregg; We Will Have

Nothing To Do With Lavie,  Pour Le Moment. Il Ne Respectera Pas

Celui-Ci Comme Les Deux Autres. Discuss With Them Before Charles The

Means Of Extricating Yourself From These Engagements. Let Him Hear

What They Say,  And What They Would Advise You To Do,  As Guardian To

Your Children; For There Is The Point De Vue,  In Which I Am Touched

The Most Sensibly; And Whatever Charles Has To Offer By Way Of

Expedient,  By Way Of Correcting Their Ideas,  Whatever Hopes He Can

Give,  Which Are Rationally Founded,  Let Him Lay Them Before These

People In Your Presence.

 

Why I Wish This Is,  The [That] He Must Then Have Something To Combat

With,  And That Is,  Truth And Reason. Without That,  And You Two

Together Only,  Or Hare,  What Will Follow? There Will Be Flux De

Bouche,  Which To Me Is Totally Incomprehensible,  As Sir G.

M('Cartney) Told Me That It Was To Him. Il Fondera En Larmes,  And

Then You Will Be Told Afterwards,  Whenever A Measure Of Any Vigour

Is Proposed,  That You Had Acquiesced,  Because You Had Been Disarmed,

Confounded. This Happened No Longer Ago Than Last Saturday,  With

Foley,(98) Who Related The Whole Conference To Me,  And The Manner In

Which It Was Carried On. "However," Says Foley,  "I Carried Two

Chapter 17 Pg 127

Points Out Of Four,  But I Was Obliged To Leave Him,  Not Being Able

[To] Resist The Force Of Sensibility."

 

I Confess That,  Had It Been My Case,  I Should Have Been Tempted To

Have Made Use Of Me De Maintenon'S Words To The Princesse De Conti--

"Pleurez,  Pleurez,  Madame,  Car C'Est Un Grand Malheur Que De N'Avoir

Pas Le Coeur Bon." I Do Not Think That Of Charles So Much As The

Rest Of The World Does,  And To Which He Has Undoubtedly Given Some

Reason By His Behaviour To His Father,  And To His Friends. I

Attribute It All To A Vanity That Has,  By The Foolish Admiration Of

His Acquaintance,  Been Worked Up Into A Kind Of Phrensy,  I Shall Be

Very Unwilling To Believe That He Ever Intended To Distress A Friend

Whom He Loved As Much As I Believe That He Has Done You.

 

But Really This Is Being Very Candid To Him,  And Yet I Cannot Help

It. For I Have Passed Two Evenings With Him At Supper At Almack'S,

Ou Nous Avons Ete Lie En Conversation,  And Never Was Anybody More

Agreeable And The More So For His Having No Pretensions To It,  Which

Is What Has Offended More People Than Even What Lady H(Ollan)D Is So

Good As To Call His Misconduct. I Do Assure You,  My Dear Lord,  That

Notwithstanding All That I Have Been Obliged By My Friendship And

Confidence In You To Say,  I Very Sincerely Love Him,  Although I

Blame Him So Much,  That I Dare Not Own It; And It Will Give Me The

Greatest Pleasure In The World To See Him Take That Turn Which He

Professes To Take. But What Hopes Can We Have Of It?

 

Vernon Said Yesterday After Dinner,  That He And Some Others--Bully,

I Think,  Among The Rest--Had Been Driven By The Rain Up Into

Charles'S Room; And When They Had Lugged Him Out Of His Bed,  They

Attacked Him So Violently Upon What He Did At The Bath,  That He Was

Obliged To Have Recourse,  As He Did Last Year,  To An Absolute Denial

Of The Fact. The Imagination Of Tat Which Seems To Have Been My Vocation,  C'Est Fait De Moi; I

Must Declare Myself Good For Nothing. I Carried Yesterday The

Regalia. The Cup Has Been New Boiled,  And Looks Quite Royal.

 

Sir L. Pepys Was With Me In The Morning,  And Thought My Pulse Very

Quiet,  Which Could Only Have Been From The Fatigue Of The Day

Before--Juste Dieu! Fatigue,  Of Going 8 Or 9 Miles,  My Legs On The

Foreseat,  And Reposing My Head On Jones'S Shoulder. The Duke Would

Make Her Go,  And Everybody. He Thinks That I Am Now The Most

Helpless Creature In The World,  When,  From Infirmity,  I Want Ten

Times More Aid Than I Ever Did. Sir Lucas Pronounced No Immediate

End Of Myself,  But That I Should Continue To Bark,  With Hemlock.

I'Ll Do Anything For Some Time Longer,  But My Patience Will,  I See,

After A Certain Time,  Be Exhausted. As To Poor Pierre,  It Is Over

With Him. Sir Lucas Says The Disorder Is Past All Remedy. This Is A

Most Distressful Story To Me,  And How To Supply His Place I Do Not

Know.

 

 

 

 

With This Letter A Correspondence,  Unique And Delightful,  Extending

Over Many Years,  Ends. At Its Close We May Well Recall Lord

Carlisle'S Words Written Fourteen Years Before,  "I Shall Always Be

Grateful To Fortune," He Said,  ". . . For Having Linked Me In So

Close A Friendship With Yourself,  In Spite Of Disparity Of Years And

Chapter 17 Pg 128

Pursuits." Selwyn Returned To London Shortly Before Christmas,  And

Died On The 25Th Of January,  1791. On This Very Day Walpole,  With A

Touching Simplicity And Truth,  Wrote To Miss Berry,  "I Am On The

Point Of Losing,  Or Have Lost,  My Oldest Acquaintance And Friend,

George Selwyn,  Who Was Yesterday At The Extremity. These

Misfortunes,  Tho' They Can Be So But For A Short Time,  Are Very

Sensible To The Old; But Him I Really Loved Not Only For His

Infinite Wit,  But For A Thousand Good Qualities."

 

(Index)Pg 129

A

 

Abergavenny,  Lord

 Abingdon,  Lord

 Adams,  John

 Ailesbury,  Lady

 Albemarle,  Lady

 Almack'S Assembly Rooms,  King Street,  St. James'; Masquerade

     At; Masquerade Stopped By Bishops; Extinct.

 Almack'S Club,  Pall Mall; Events At; Thriving; Selwyn And Fox At

      Supper At; Selwyn'S "Bureau;" Selwyn Avoids; House Occupied

     By.

 Alston,  Tommy

 Althorp,  Lord

 Amelia,  Princess

 America--Lord Carlisle,  Peace Commissioner To; Gower,  Lord,  On

      Independence Of; Fitzpatrick In; Colonies,  Bad News From;

 Question Of; Storer,  With Carlisle In; News From; Colonies In; His

 Majesty'S Subjects In; Prohibitory Bill; Selwyn On The War In;

 Letter-Writing Between England And; Selwyn Regarding Politics In;

 Want Of Interest In Society Concerning; Fox'S Motion To Conclude

 Peace With; Public Interest In; Motion As To; President Of

 Congress.

 Amhurst,  Lord

 Andre,  Major

 Androche,  Marshal

 Argyle,  Fifth Duke Of

 Arnold,  Benedict

 Ascough,  Mr.

 Ashburnham,  Second Earl Of

 Ashburton,  Lord,  See Dunning

 Ashton,  Thomas

  Ashton,  Mr.

 Assembly Of Notables,  National

 Astley,  Mr.

 Aston,  Sir W.

 Auckland,  First Lord,  See Eden

 Aylesford (Ailsford) Lord;  Lord Of      The Bedchamber

 

B

 

Baker,  Dr.

(Index)Pg 130

 Balbi,  Comtesse De

 Balliol College

 Baltimore,  Lord

 Bampton Lectures (Dr. White'S)

 "Baptist," The,  See Henry St. John

 Barbot'S Lottery

 Barker,  Mr.

 Barrington,  Lord

 Barry,  Mme. Du "Anecdotes Of"

 Barry,  Richard,  Sixth Earl Of Barrymore,

Barry,  Richard,  Seventh Earl Of Barrymore

 Barry,  Mr.

 Barrymore,  Lady

 Barrymore,  Lord,  See Barry

 Barth,  Mrs.

 Basilico

 Bath

 Beauchamp,  Lord

 Beauclerk,  Topham; Married To Lady Bolingbroke

 Beaufort,  Duke Of

 Beckford,  Alderman

 Beckford,  William,  Son Of Alderman Beckford,  Author And Collector

 Bedford,  Fourth Duke Of

 Bedford,  Fifth Duke Of

 Bedford,  Duchess Of

 Bedford Faction

 Bedford House; Parties At

Belgiojoso

 Berkeley,  Lord

 Berry,  Agnes

 Berry,  Mary

 Bertie,  Lord

 Besbborough,  Lord

 "Betty,  Lady," See Howard,  Lady Elizabeth

 Biron,  Duchesse De

 Biron,  Admiral,  See Byron

 Biron,  Mrs.

 Biron,  Duc De

 Blake,  Miss

 Blake,  Mr.

 Blake,  Mrs.

 Blandford,  Lord

 Blaquiere,  Sir John

 Blenheim

gh And Cynthia Were Drinking,  And By Midnight Both Of Them Were

Drunk,  Too Drunk Any Longer To Think Clearly. As They Danced,  Hugh Was

Aware Of Nothing But Cynthia'S Body,  Her Firm Young Body Close To His.

His Blood Beat With The Pounding Of The Drums. He Held Her Tighter And

Tighter--The Gymnasium,  The Other Couples,  A Swaying Mist Before His

Eyes.

 

When The Dance Ended,  Cynthia Whispered Huskily,  "Ta-Take Me Somewhere,

Hugh."

 

Strangely Enough,  He Got The Significance Of Her Words At Once. His

Blood Raced,  And He Staggered So Crazily That Cynthia Had To Hold Him By

The Arm.

(Index)Pg 131

 

"Sure--Sure; I'Ll--I'Ll Ta-Take You Some-Somewhere. I--I,  Too,

Cyntheea."

 

They Walked Unevenly Out Of The Gymnasium,  Down The Steps,  And Through

The Crowd Of Smokers Standing Outside. Hardly Aware Of What He Was

Doing,  Hugh Led Cynthia To Keller Hall,  Which Was Not More Than Fifty

Yards Distant.

 

He Took A Flask Out Of His Pocket. "Jush One More Drink," He Said

Thickly And Emptied The Bottle. Then,  Holding Cynthia Desperately By The

Arm,  He Opened The Door Of Keller Hall And Stumbled With Her Up The

Stairs To Norry Parker'S Room. Fortunately The Hallways Were Deserted,

And No One Saw Them. The Door Was Unlocked,  And Hugh,  After Searching

Blindly For The Switch,  Finally Clicked On The Lights And Mechanically

Closed The Door Behind Him.

 

He Was Very Dizzy. He Wanted Another Drink--And He Wanted Cynthia. He

Put His Arms Around Her And Pulled Her Drunkenly To Him. The Door Of One

Of The Bedrooms Opened,  And Norry Parker Stood Watching Them. He Had

Spent The Evening At The Home Of A Musical Professor And Had Returned To

His Room Only A Few Minutes Before. His Face Went White When He Saw The

Embracing Couple.

 

"Hugh!" He Said Sharply.

 

Hugh And Cynthia,  Still Clinging To Each Other,  Looked At Him. Slowly

Cynthia Took Her Arms From Around Hugh'S Neck And Forced Herself From

His Embrace. Norry Disappeared Into His Room And Came Out A Minute Later

With His Coat On; He Had Just Begun To Undress When He Had Heard A Noise

In The Study.

 

"I'Ll See You Home,  Cynthia," He Said Quietly. He Took Her Arm And Led

Her Out Of The Room--And Locked The Door Behind Him. Hugh Stared At Them

Blankly,  Swaying Slightly,  Completely Befuddled. Cynthia Went With Norry

Willingly Enough,  Leaning Heavily On His Arm And Occasionally Sniffing.

 

When He Returned To His Room,  Hugh Was Sitting On The Floor Staring At A

Photograph Of Norry'S Mother. He Had Been Staring At It For Ten Minutes,

Holding It First At Arm'S Length And Then Drawing It Closer And Closer

To Him. No Matter Where He Held It,  He Could Not See What It Was--And He

Was Determined To See It.

 

Norry Walked Up To Him And Reached For The Photograph.

 

"Give Me That," He Said Curtly. "Take Your Hands On My Mother'S

Picture."

 

"It'S Not," Hugh Exclaimed Angrily; "It'S Not. It'S My Musher,  My Own

Mu-Musher--My,  My Own Dear Musher. Oh,  Oh!"

 

He Slumped Down In a Heap And Began To Sob Bitterly,  Muttering,  "Musher,

Musher,  Musher."

 

Norry Was Angry. The Whole Scene Was Revolting To Him. His Best Friend

Was A Disgusting Sight,  Apparently Not Much Better Than A Gibbering

(Index)Pg 132

Idiot. And Hugh Had Shamefully Abused His Hospitality. Norry Was No

Longer Gentle And Boyish; He Was Bitterly Disillusioned.

 

"Get Up," He Said Briefly. "Get Up And Go To Bed."

 

"Tha'S My Musher. You Said It Wasn'T My--My Musher." Hugh Looked Up,  His

Face Wet With Maudlin Tears.

 

Norry Leaned Over And Snatched The Picture From Him. "Take Your Dirty

Hands Off Of That," He Snapped. "Get Up And Go To Bed."

 

"Tha'S My Musher." Hugh Was Gently Persistent.

 

"It'S Not Your Mother. You Make Me Sick. Go To Bed." Norry Tugged At

Hugh'S Arm Impotently; Hugh Simply Sat Limp,  A Dead Weight.

 

Norry'S Gray Eyes Narrowed. He Took A Glass,  Filled It With Cold Water

In The Bedroom,  And Then Deliberately Dashed The Water Into Hugh'S Face.

 

Then He Repeated The Performance.

 

Hugh Shook His Head And Rubbed His Hands Wonderingly Over His Face. "I'M

No Good," He Said Almost Clearly. "I'M No Good."

 

"You Certainly Aren'T. Come On; Get Up And Go To Bed." Again Norry

Tugged At His Arm,  And This Time Hugh,  Clinging Clumsily To The Edge Of

The Table By Which He Was Sitting,  Staggered To His Feet.

 

"I'M A Blot," He Declared Mournfully; "I'M No Good,  Norry. I'M An--An

Excreeshence,  An Ex-Cree-Shence,  Tha'S What I Am."

 

"Something Of The Sort," Norry Agreed In disgust. "Here,  Let Me Take Off

Your Coat."

 

"Leave My Coat Alone." He Pulled Himself Away From Norry. "I'M No Good.

I'M An Ex-Cree-Shence. I'M Goin' T' Commit Suicide; Tha'S What I'M Goin'

T' Do. Nobody'Ll Care 'Cept My Musher,  And She Wouldn'T Either If She

Knew Me. Oh,  Oh,  I Wish I Didn'T Use A Shafety-Razor. I'Ll Tell You What

To Do,  Norry." He Clung Pleadingly To Norry'S Arm And Begged With

Passionate Intensity. "You Go Over To Harry King'S Room. He'S Got A

Re-Re--A Pistol. You Get It For Me And I'Ll Put It Right Here--" He

Touched His Temple Awkwardly--"And I'Ll--I'Ll Blow My Damn Brains Out.

I'M A Blot,  Norry; I'M An Ex-Cree-Shence."

 

Norry Shook Him. "Shut Up. You'Ve Got To Go To Bed. You'Re Drunk."

 

"I'M Sick. I'M An Ex-Cree-Shence." The Room Was Whizzing Rapidly Around

Hugh,  And He Clung Hysterically To Norry. Finally He Permitted Himself

To Be Led Into The Bedroom And Undressed,  Still Moaning That He Was An

"Ex-Cree-Shence."

 

The Bed Pitched. He Lay On His Right Side,  Clutching The Covers In

Terror. He Turned Over On His Back. Still The Bed Swung Up And Down

Sickeningly. Then He Twisted Over To His Left Side,  And The Bed

Suddenly Swung Into Rest,  Almost Stable. In a Few Minutes He Was Sound

Asleep.

(Index)Pg 133

He Cut Chapel And His Two Classes The Next Morning,  One At Nine And The

Other At Ten O'Clock; In Fact,  It Was Nearly Eleven When He Awoke. His

Head Was Splitting With Pain,  His Tongue Was Furry,  And His Mouth Tasted

Like Bilge-Water. He Made Wry Faces,  Passed His Thick Tongue Around His

Dry Mouth--Oh,  So Damnably Dry!--And Pressed The Palms Of His Hands To

His Pounding Temples. He Craved A Drink Of Cold Water,  But He Was Afraid

To Get Out Of Bed. He Felt Pathetically Weak And Dizzy.

 

Norry Walked Into The Room And Stood Quietly Looking At Him.

 

"Get Me A Drink,  Norry,  Please," Hugh Begged.

 

"I'M Parched." He Rolled Over. "Ouch! God,  How My Head Aches!"

 

Norry Brought Him The Drink,  But Nothing Less Than Three Glasses Even

Began To Satisfy Hugh. Then,  Still Saying Nothing,  Norry Put A Cold

Compress On Hugh'S Hot Forehead.

 

"Thanks,  Norry Old Man. That'S Awfully Damn Good Of You."

 

Norry Walked Out Of The Room,  And Hugh Quickly Fell Into A Light Sleep.

An Hour Later He Woke Up,  Quite Unaware Of The Fact That Norry Had

Changed The Cold Compress Three Times. The Nap Had Refreshed Him. He

Still Felt Weak And Faint; But His Head No Longer Throbbed,  And His

Throat Was Less Dry.

 

"Norry," He Called Feebly.

 

"Yes?" Norry Stood In The Doorway. "Feeling Better?"

 

"Yes,  Some. Come Sit Down On The Bed. I Want To Talk To You. But Get Me

Another Drink First,  Please. My Mouth Tastes Like Burnt Rubber."

 

Norry Gave Him The Drink And Then Sat Down On The Edge Of The Bed,

Silently Waiting.

 

"I'M Awfully Ashamed Of Myself,  Old Man," Hugh Began. "I--I Don'T Know

What To Say. I Can'T Remember Much What Happened. I Remember Bringing

Cynthia Up Here And You Coming In and Then--Well,  I Somehow Can'T

Remember Anything After That. What Did You Do?"

 

"I Took Cynthia Home And Then Came Back And Put You To Bed." Norry Gazed

At The Floor And Spoke Softly.

 

"You Took Cynthia Home?"

 

"Of Course."

 

Hugh Stared At Him In awe. "But If You'D Been Seen With Her In The Dorm,

You'D Have Been Fired From College."

 

"Nobody Saw Us. It'S All Right."

 

Hugh Wanted To Cry. "Oh,  Lord,  Norry,  You'Re White," He Exclaimed. "The

Whitest Fellow That Ever Lived. You Took That Chance For Me."

 

(Index) Pg 133

"That'S All Right." Norry Was Painfully Embarrassed.

 

"And I'M Such A Rotter. You--You Know What We Came Up Here For?"

 

"I Can Guess." Norry'S Glance Still Rested On The Floor. He Spoke Hardly

Above A Whisper.

 

"Nothing Happened. I Swear It,  Norry. I Meant To--But--But You

Came--Thank God! I Was Awfully Soused. I Guess You Think I'M Rotten,

Norry. I Suppose I Am. I Don'T Know How I Could Treat You This Way. Are

You Awfully Angry?"

 

"I Was Last Night," Norry Replied Honestly,  "But I'M Not This Morning.

I'M Just Terribly Disappointed. I Understand,  I Guess; I'M Human,

Too--But I'M Disappointed. I Can'T Forget The Way You Looked."

 

"Don'T!" Hugh Cried. "Please Don'T,  Norry. I--I Can'T Stand It If You

Talk That Way. I'M So Damned Ashamed. Please Forgive Me."

 

Norry Was Very Near To Tears. "Of Course,  I Forgive You," He Whispered,

"But I Hope You Won'T Do It Again."

 

"I Won'T,  Norry. I Promise You. Oh,  God,  I'M No Good. That'S Twice I'Ve

Been Stopped By An Accident. I'Ll Go Straight Now,  Though; I Promise

You."

 

Norry Stood Up. "It'S Nearly Noon," He Said More Naturally. "Cynthia

Will Be Wondering Where You Are."

 

"Cynthia! Oh,  Norry,  How Can I Face Her?"

 

"You'Ve Got To," Said The Young Moralist Firmly.

 

"I Suppose So," The Sinner Agreed,  His Voice Miserably Lugubrious.

"God!"

 

After Three Cups Of Coffee,  However,  The Task Did Not Seem So

Impossible. Hugh Entered The Nu Delta House With A Fairly Jaunty Air And

Greeted The Men And Women Easily Enough. His Heart Skipped A Beat When

He Saw Cynthia Standing In The Far Corner Of The Living-Room. She Was

Wearing Her Scarlet Hat And Blue Suit.

 

She Saved Him The Embarrassment Of Opening The Conversation. "Come Into

The Library," She Said Softly. "I Want To Speak To You."

 

Wondering And Rather Frightened,  He Followed Her.

 

"I'M Going Home This Afternoon," She Began. "I'Ve Got Everything Packed,

And I'Ve Told Everybody That I Don'T Feel Very Well."

 

"You Aren'T Sick?" He Asked,  Really Worried.

 

"Of Course Not,  But I Had To Say Something. The Train Leaves In an Hour

Or Two,  And I Want To Have A Talk With You Before I Go."

 

"But Hang It,  Cynthia,  Think Of What You'Re Missing. There'S A Baseball

Game With Raleigh This Afternoon,  A Tea-Dance In The Union After That,

(Index) Pg 134

The Musical Clubs Concert This Evening--I Sing With The Glee Club And

Norry'S Going To Play A Solo,  And I'M In The Banjo Club,  Too--And We Are

Going To Have A Farewell Dance At The House After The Concert." Hugh

Pleaded Earnestly; But Somehow Down In His Heart He Wished That She

Wouldn'T Stay.

 

"I Know,  But I'Ve Got To Go. Let'S Go Somewhere Out In The Woods Where

We Can Talk Without Being Disturbed."

 

Still Protesting,  He Led Her Out Of The House,  Across The Campus,  Past

The Lake,  And Into The Woods. Finally They Sat Down On A Smooth Rock.

 

"I'M Awfully Sorry To Bust Up Your Party,  Hugh," Cynthia Began Slowly,

"But I'Ve Been Doing Some Thinking,  And I'Ve Just Got To Beat It." She

Paused A Moment And Then Looked Him Square In The Eyes. "Do You Love

Me?"

 

For An Instant Hugh'S Eyes Dropped,  And Then He Looked Up And Lied Like

A Gentleman. "Yes," He Said Simply; "I Love You,  Cynthia."

 

She Smiled Almost Wearily And Shook Her Head. "You _Are_ A Good Egg,

Hugh. It Was White Of You To Say That,  But I Know That You Don'T Love

Me. You Did Yesterday,  But You Don'T Now. Do You Realize That You

Haven'T Asked To Kiss Me To-Day?"

 

Hugh Flushed And Stammered: "I--I'Ve Got An Awful Hang-Over,  Cynthia. I

Feel Rotten."

 

"Yes,  I Know,  But That Isn'T Why You Didn'T Want To Kiss Me. I Know All

About It. Listen,  Hugh." She Faced Him Bravely. "I'Ve Been Running With

A Fast Crowd For Three Years,  And I'Ve Learned A Lot About Fellows; And

Most Of 'Em That I'Ve Known Weren'T Your Kind. How Old Are You?"

 

"Twenty-One In a Couple Of Months."

 

"I'M Twenty And Lots Wiser About Some Things Than You Are. I'Ve Been

Crazy About You--I Guess I Am Kinda Yet--And I Know That You Thought You

Were In Love With Me. I Wanted You To Have Hold Of Me All The Time.

That'S All That Mattered. It Was--Was Your Body,  Hugh. You'Re Sweet And

Fine,  And I Respect You,  But I'M Not The Kid For You To Run Around With.

I'M Too Fast. I Woke Up Early This Morning,  And I'Ve Done A Lot Of

Thinking Since. You Know What We Came Near Doing Last Night? Well,

That'S All We Want Each Other For. We'Re Not In Love."

 

A Phrase From The Bull Sessions Rushed Into Hugh'S Mind. "You Mean--Sex

Attraction?" He Asked In Some Embarrassment. He Felt Weak And Tired. He

Seemed To Be Listening To Cynthia In a Dream. Nothing Was Real--And

Everything Was A Little Sad.

 

"Yes,  That'S It--And,  Oh,  Hugh,  Somehow I Don'T Want That With You.

We'Re Not The Same Kind At All. I Used To Think That When I Got Your

Letters. Sometimes I Hardly Understood Them,  But I'D Close My Eyes And

See You So Strong And Blond And Clean,  And I'D Imagine You Were Holding

Me Tight--And--And Then I Was Happy. I Guess I Did Kinda Love You,  But

We'Ve Spoiled It." She Wanted Desperately To Cry But Bit Her Lip And

Held Back Her Tears.

(Index) Pg 135

 

"I Think I Know What You Mean,  Cynthia," Hugh Said Softly. "I Don'T Know

Much About Love And Sex Attraction And That Sort Of Thing,  But I Know

That I Was Happier Kissing You Than I'Ve Ever Been In My Life. I--I Wish

That Last Night Hadn'T Happened. I Hate Myself."

 

"You Needn'T. It Was More My Fault Than Yours. I'M A Pretty Bad Egg,  I

Guess; And The Booze And You Holding Me Was Too Much. I Hate Myself,

Too. I'Ve Spoiled The Nicest Thing That Ever Happened To Me." She Looked

Up At Him,  Her Eyes Bright With Tears. "I _Did_ Love You,  Hugh. I Loved

You As Much As I Could Love Any One."

 

Hugh Put His Arms Around Her And Drew Her To Him. Then He Bent His Head

And Kissed Her Gently. There Was No Passion In His Embrace,  But There

Was Infinite Tenderness. He Felt Spiritually And Physically Weak,  As If

All His Emotional Resources Had Been Quite Spent.

 

"I Think That I Love You More Than I Ever Did Before," He Whispered.

 

If He Had Shown Any Passion,  If There Had Been Any Warmth In His Kiss,

Cynthia Might Have Believed Him,  But She Was Aware Only Of His

Gentleness. She Pushed Him Back And Drew Out Of His Arms.

 

"No," She Said Sharply; "You Don'T Love Me. You'Re Just Sorry For

Me.... You'Re Just Kind."

 

Hugh Had Read "Marpessa" Many Times,  And A Line From It Came To Make Her

Attitude Clear:

 

 

 

 

                                "Thou Wouldst Grow Kind;

                 Most Bitter To A Woman That Was Loved."

 

 

 

 

"Oh,  I Don'T Know; I Don'T Know," He Said Miserably. "Let'S Not Call

Everything Off Now,  Cynthia. Let'S Wait A While."

 

"No!" She Stood Up Decisively. "No. I Hate Loose Ends." She Glanced At

Her Tiny Wrist-Watch. "If I'M Going To Make That Train,  I'Ve Got To

Hurry. We'Ve Got Barely Half An Hour. Come,  Hugh. Be A Sport."

 

He Stood Up,  His Face White And Weary,  His Blue Eyes Dull And Sad.

 

"Just As You Say,  Cynthia," He Said Slowly. "But I'M Going To Miss You

Like Hell."

 

She Did Not Reply But Started Silently For The Path. He Followed Her,

And They Walked Back To The Fraternity House Without Saying A Word,  Both

Busy With Unhappy Thoughts.

 

When They Reached The Fraternity,  She Got Her Suit-Case,  Handed It To

Him,  Declined His Offer Of A Taxi,  And Walked Unhappily By His Side Down

The Hill That They Had Climbed So Gaily Two Days Before. Hugh Had Just

(Index) Pg 136

Time To Get Her Ticket Before The Train Started.

 

She Paused A Moment At The Car Steps And Held Out Her Hand. "Good-By,

Hugh," She Said Softly,  Her Lips Trembling,  Her Eyes Full Of Tears.

 

"Good-By,  Cynthia," He Whispered. And Then,  Foolishly,  "Thanks For

Coming."

 

She Did Not Smile But Drew Her Hand From His And Mounted The Steps. An

Instant Later She Was Inside The Car And The Train Was Moving.

 

Numbed And Miserable,  Hugh Slowly Climbed The Hill And Wandered Back To

Norry Parker'S Room. He Was Glad That Norry Wasn'T There. He Paced Up

And Down The Room A Few Minutes Trying To Think. Then He Threw Himself

Despairingly On A Couch,  Face Down. He Wanted To Cry; He Had Never

Wanted So Much To Cry--And He Couldn'T. There Were No Tears--And He Had

Lost Something Very Precious. He Thought It Was Love; It Was Only His

Dreams.

 

 

Chapter 18 Pg 136

 

For Several Days Hugh Was Tortured By Doubt And Indecision: There Were

Times When He Thought That He Loved Cynthia,  Times When He Was Sure That

He Didn'T; When He Had Just About Made Up His Mind That He Hated Her,  He

Found Himself Planning To Follow Her To New Rochelle; He Tried To

Persuade Himself That His Conduct Was No More Reprehensible Than That Of

His Comrades,  But Shame Invariably Overwhelmed His Arguments; There Were

Hours When He Ached For Cynthia,  And Hours When He Loathed Her For

Smashing Something That Had Been Beautiful. Most Of All,  He Wanted

Comfort,  Advice,  But He Knew No One To Whom He Was Willing To Give His

Confidence. Somehow,  He Couldn'T Admit His Drunkenness To Any One Whose

Advice He Valued. He Called On Professor Henley Twice,  Intending To Make

A Clean Breast Of His Transgressions. Henley,  He Knew,  Would Not Lecture

Him,  But When He Found Himself Facing Him,  He Could Not Bring Himself To

Confession; He Was Afraid Of Losing Henley'S Respect.

 

Finally,  In desperation,  He Talked To Norry,  Not Because He Thought

Norry Could Help Him But Because He Had To Talk To Somebody And Norry

Already Knew The Worst. They Went Walking Far Out Into The Country,  Idly

Discussing Campus Gossip Or Pausing To Revel In The Beauty Of The Night,

The Clear,  Clean Sky,  The Pale Moon,  The Fireflies Sparkling Suddenly

Over The Meadows Or Even To The Tree-Tops. Weary From Their Long Walk,

They Sat Down On A Stump,  And Hugh Let The Dam Of His Emotion Break.

 

"Norry," He Began Intensely,  "I'M In Hell--In Hell. It'S A Week Since

Prom,  And I Haven'T Had A Line From Cynthia. I Haven'T Dared Write To

Her."

 

Chapter 18 Pg 137

"Why Not?"

 

"She--She--Oh,  Damn It!--She Told Me Before She Left That Everything Was

All Off. That'S Why She Left Early. She Said That We Didn'T Love Each

Other,  That All We Felt Was Sex Attraction. I Don'T Know Whether She'S

Right Or Not,  But I Miss Her Like The Devil. I--I Feel Empty,  Sort Of

Hollow Inside,  As If Everything Had Suddenly Been Poured Out Of Me--And

There'S Nothing To Take Its Place. I Was Full Of Cynthia,  You See,  And

Now There'S No Cynthia. There'S Nothing Left But--Oh,  God,  Norry,  I'M

Ashamed Of Myself. I Feel--Dirty." The Last Word Was Hardly Audible.

 

Norry Touched His Arm. "I Know,  Hugh,  And I'M Awfully Sorry. I Think,

Though,  That Cynthia Was Right. I Know Her Better Than You Do. She'S An

Awfully Good Kid But Not Your Kind At All; I Think I Feel As Badly

Almost As You Do About It." He Paused A Moment And Then Said Simply,  "I

Was So Proud Of You,  Hugh."

 

"Don'T!" Hugh Exclaimed. "I Want To Kill Myself When You Say Things Like

That."

 

"You Don'T Understand. I Know That You Don'T Understand. I'Ve Been Doing

A Lot Of Thinking Since Prom,  Too. I'Ve Thought Over A Lot Of Things

That You'Ve Said To Me--About Me,  I Mean. Why,  Hugh,  You Think I'M Not

Human. I Don'T Believe You Think I Have Passions Like The Rest Of You.

Well,  I Do,  And Sometimes It'S--It'S Awful. I'M Telling You That So

You'Ll Understand That I Know How You Feel. But Love'S Beautiful To Me,

Hugh,  The Most Wonderful Thing In The World. I Was In Love With A Girl

Once--And I Know. She Didn'T Give A Hang For Me; She Thought I Was A

Baby. I Suffered Awfully; But I Know That My Love Was Beautiful,  As

Beautiful As--" He Looked Around For A Simile--"As To-Night. I Think

It'S Because Of That That I Hate Mugging And Petting And That Sort Of

Thing. I Don'T Want Beauty Debased. I Want To Fight When Orchestras Jazz

Famous Arias. Well,  Petting Is Jazzing Love; And I Hate It. Do You See

What I Mean?"

 

Hugh Looked At Him Wonderingly. He Didn'T Know This Norry At All. "Yes,"

He Said Slowly; "Yes,  I See What You Mean; I Think I Do,  Anyway. But

What Has It To Do With Me?"

 

"Well,  I Know Most Of The Fellows Pet And All That Sort Of Thing,  And

They Don'T Think Anything About It. But You'Re Different; You Love

Beautiful Things As Much As I Do. You Told Me Yourself That Jimmie

Henley Said Last Year That You Were Gifted. You Can Write And Sing And

Run,  But I'Ve Just Realized That You Aren'T Proud Of Those Things At

All; You Just Take Them For Granted. And You'Re Ashamed That You Write

Poetry. Somshire Blood Does At This

Time Run Through My Veins,  And So I Hope It Will For Some Time

Before The Circulation Of It Is Stopped.

 

(110) A Distinguished Soldier,  Afterwards Field-Marshal (1738-1803).

 

(111) Eldest Daughter Of The Earl Of Carlisle; Married,  1789,  John

Campbell,  Who Was Created First Lord Cawdor; She Died 1848.

 

(112) George,  Lord Morpeth,  Afterwards Sixth Earl Of Carlisle

(1773-1848). In This Correspondence Selwyn Often Refers To Him As

George. Selwyn Had A Strong Affection For Him,  And Treated Him With

Sympathy And Tact.

Chapter 18 Pg 138

 

(113) Sir Brooke Boothby (1743-1824). One Of The Fashionable Young

Men Of The Period. He Devoted Himself Particularly,  However,  To

Literary Society,  And Published Verses,  And Political And Classical

Works. He Lived For A Time In France,  And Was A Friend Of Rousseau.

 

(114) Lady Holland Died On July 24Th.

 

(115) Stephen Fox,  First Earl Of Ilchester (1704-1776),  The Elder

Brother Of Henry,  First Lord Holland.

 

 

 

 

 

The Duties Of A Country Gentleman And A Member Of Parliament,  The

Boredom Of A Visit To A Constituency Could Not Always Be Avoided By

Selwyn. Thus The Two Following Letters Are Written From

Gloucestershire.

 

(1774,) Aug. 9,  Tuesday,  Gloucester.--I Set Out From London On

Saturday Last,  As Intended,  And Came To Matson The Next Day To

Dinner. I Found Our Learned Counsel In My Garden; He Dined With Me,

And Lay At My House,  And The Next Morning He Came With Me In My

Chaise To This Place For The Assizes. I Have Seen Little Of Him

Since,  Being Chiefly In The Grand Jury Chamber,  But I Take It For

Granted That Till This Morning That He Set Out For London His Hands

Were Full Of Business,  And The Two Men Condemned Were His Clients,

Who Were Condemned Only Par Provision Till He Had Drawn Up The Case.

 

This Town Has Been Very Full Of The Neighbouring Gentlemen,  And I

Suppose The Approaching Elections Have Been The Cause Of It. I Am

Not Personally Menaced With Any Opposition,  But Have A Great Dread

Of One,  Because The Contentions Among Those Who Live In The Country

And Have Nothing Else To Do But To Quarrel,  Are So Great,  That

Without Intending To Hurt Me,  They Will Stir Up Trouble And

Opposition,  Which Will Be Both Hazardous And Expensive. I Am

Tormented To Take A Part In I Know Not What,  And With I Know Not

Whom,  And My Difficulty Is To Keep Off The Solicitation Of My

Friends,  As They Call Themselves,  Who Want A Bustle,  The Expense Of

Which Is Not To Be Defrayed By Themselves.

 

I Do Assure You That It Is A Monstrous Oppression Of Spirits Which I

Feel,  And Which I Would Not Feel For An Hour If I Had Nobody'S

Happiness To Think Of But My Own,  Which Would Be Much More Secured

By A Total Renunciation Of Parliament,  Ministers,  And Boroughs Than

By Pursuing The Emoluments Attached To Those Connections. However,

As It Is The Last Time That I Shall Ever Have Anything To Do Of This

Kind,  I Will Endeavour To Keep Up My Spirits As Well As I Can; But I

Must Declare To You That It Is An Undertaking That Is Most Grievous

To Me,  That I Am Ashamed Of,  And That Neither The Established

Custom Of The Country [N]Or The Nature Of Our Government Does By Any

Means Reconcile To Me.

 

I Have Dinners Of One Sort Or Other Till Tuesday,  And Then I Purpose

To Set Out For London,  Unless Some Unforeseen Event Prevents Me.

Horry Walpole Has A Project Of Coming Into This Part Of The World

The End Of This Week,  And,  If He Does,  Of Coming To Me On Saturday

Chapter 18 Pg 139

I Shall Be Glad To Converse With Anybody Whose Ideas Are More

Intelligible Than Those Of The Persons I Am Now With. But I Do Not

Depend Much Upon Seeing Him.

 

The Weather Is Very Fine,  And Matson In as Great Beauty As A Place

Can Be In,  But The Beauties Of It Make Very Little Impression Upon

Me. In Short,  There Is Nothing In This Eccentric Situation In Which

I Am Now That Can Afford Me The Least Pleasure,  And Everything I

Love To See In The World Is At A Distance From Me. All I Do Is So

Par Maniere D'Acquit,  Et De Si Mauvaise Grace,  That I Am Surprised

At The Civility With Which I Am Treated.

 

I  Mauvaise Graenty-Five Were Even A

Little Teed. To Go Around Saying That Sanford Men Are A Lot Of Muckers

Just Because A Small Fraction Of Them Acted Like Gutter-Pups Is Sheer

Bunk. The Prom Was A Drunken Brawl,  But All Sanford Men Aren'T

Drunkards--Not By A Damn Sight."

 

Hugh Had To Admit The Force Of Gates'S Reasoning,  And He Found Comfort

In It. He Had Been Just About Ready To Believe That All College Men And

Sanford Men In Particular Were Hardly Better Than Common Muckers. But In

The End The Comfort That He Got Was Small: He Realized Bitterly That He

Was One Of The Minority That Had Disgraced His College; He Was One Of

The Gutter-Pups. The Recognition Of That Undeniable Fact Cut Deep.

 

He Was Determined To Redeem Himself; He _Had_ To,  Somehow. Living A Life

Of Perfect Rectitude Was Not Enough; He Had To Do Something That Would

Win Back His Own Respect And The Respect Of His Fellows,  Which He

Thought,  Quite Absurdly,  That He Had Forfeited. So Far As He Could See,

There Was Only One Way That He Could Justify His Existence At Sanford;

That Was To Win One Of The Dashes In The Sanford-Raleigh Meet. He Clung

To That Idea With The Tenacity Of A Fanatic.

 

He Had Nearly A Month In Which To Train,  And Train He Did As He Never

Had Before. His Diet Became A Matter Of The Utmost Importance; A

Rub-Down Was A Holy Rite,  And The Words Of Jansen,  The Coach,  Divine

Gospel. He Placed In both Of The Preliminary Meets,  But He Knew That He

Could Do Better; He Wasn'T Yet In condition.

 

When The Day For The Raleigh-Sanford Meet Finally Came,  He Did Not Feel

Any Of The Nervousness That Had Spelled Defeat For Him In His Freshman

Year. He Was Stonily Calm,  Silently Determined. He Was Going To Place In

The Hundred And Win The Two-Twenty Or Die In The Attempt. No Golden

Dreams Of Breaking Records Excited Him. Calvert Of Raleigh Was Running

The Hundred Consistently In Ten Seconds And Had Been Credited With

Better Time. Hugh Had No Hopes Of Defeating Him In The Hundred,  But

There Was A Chance In The Two-Twenty. Calvert Was A Short-Distance Man,

The Shorter The Better. Two Hundred And Twenty Yards Was A Little Too

Far For Him.

 

Calvert Did Not Look Like A Runner. He Was A Good Two Inches Shorter

Than Hugh,  Who Lacked Nearly That Much Of Six Feet. Calvert Was Heavily

Built--A Dark,  Brawny Chap,  Both Quick And Powerful. Hugh Looked At Him

And For A Moment Hated Him. Although He Did Not Phrase It So--In Fact,

He Did Not Phrase It At All--Calvert Was His Obstacle In His Race For

Redemption.

 

Calvert Won The Hundred-Yard Dash In Ten Seconds Flat,  Breaking The

Chapter 18 Pg 140

Sanford-Raleigh Record. Hugh,  Running Faster Than He Ever Had In His

Life,  Barely Managed To Come In Second Ahead Of His Team-Mate Murphy.

The Sanford Men Cheered Him Lustily,  But He Hardly Listened. He _Had_ To

Win The Two-Twenty.

 

At Last The Runners Were Called To The Starting-Line. They Danced Up And

Down The Track Flexing Their Muscles. Hugh Was Tense But More Determined

Than Nervous. Calvert Pranced Around Easily; He Seemed Entirely

Recovered From His Great Effort In The Hundred. Finally The Starter

Called Them To Their Marks. They Tried Their Spikes In The

Starting-Holes,  Scraped Them Out A Bit More,  Made A Few Trial Dashes,

And Finally Knelt In Line At The Command Of The Starter.

 

Hugh Expected Calvert To Lead For The First Hundred Yards; But The Last

Hundred,  That Was Where Calvert Would Weaken. Calvert Was Sure To Be

Ahead At The Beginning--But After That!

 

"On Your Marks.

 

"Set."

 

The Pistol Cracked. The Start Was Perfect; The Five Men Leaped Forward

Almost Exactly Together. For Once Calvert Had Not Beaten The Others Off

The Mark,  But He Immediately Drew Ahead. He Was Running Powerfully,  His

Legs Rising And Falling In exact Rhythm,  His Spikes Tearing Into The

Cinder Path. But Hugh And Murphy Were Pressing Him Close. At The End Of

The First Hundred Calvert Led By A Yard. Hugh Pounded On,  Murphy Falling

Behind Him. The Others Were Hopelessly Outclassed. Hugh Did Not Think;

He Did Not Hear A Thousand Men Shouting Hysterically,  "Cas Of This Old Building,  Which,  I Believe,  Will Not Hold

Out This Century.

 

Horry Tells Me That A Scheme Has Been Formed,  Of Replacing Charles,

But That Lord North Will Not Hear Of It. I Should Certainly Myself

Have The Same Repugnance. But As I Love Charles More Than I Do The

Other,  I Wish That,  Or Anything Which Can Put Him Once More In a Way

Of Establishment. I Shall However Not Have Any Hopes Of That,  Till

He Is Less Intoxicated Than He Is With The All Sufficiency,  As He

Imagines,  Of His Parts. I Think That,  And His Infinite Contempt Of

The Qu'En Dira-T-On,  Upon Every Point Which Governs The Rest Of

Mankind,  Are The Two And (Sic) Chief Sources Of All His Misfortunes.

 

Ste,  They Tell Me,  Has Come To A Resolution Of Selling Holland

H(Ouse) As Soon As Possible,  And Of Rebuilding Winterslow. If Lady

Holland Had Not Died Just As She Did,  I Believe That I Should Have

Had Him And Lady Mary Here For Some Days,  Which I Should Have Liked

Very Well.

 

I Have Got A Prize In barbot'S Lottery,  As It May Be Conty Has Told

You. I Left A Man In London,  When I Came Away,  With A Commission To

See That Justice Was Done Me,  And To Send My Pye,  If I Should Have

One,  Into Kent. Mine Is A Quatre Perdrises (Sic); So I Have No

Reason To Complain Of Conty'S Lotteries,  For I Have Had A Prize In

Both Of Them.

 

If You Intend To Buy A Ticket In The State Lottery,  I Should Be Glad

To Have A Share Of It With Lady C(Arlisle),  Lord Morpeth,  And Little

Caroline,  That Is,  One Ticket Between Us Five. Three Of My Tenants

Chapter 18 Pg 141

Joined For One In The Lottery Two Or Three Years Since,  And They Got

A 20,000 Pound Prize. I Made A Visit To One Of Them The Other Day,

Whose Farm Is Not Far Off,  And He Had Made It The Prettiest In The

World; And He Has Three Children To Share His 10,000,  For One Moiety

Of This Ticket Was His.

 

Pray Make My Very Best Compliments To Lady C. And Lady J.,(116) And

Give My Hearty Love To Caroline; And As For The Little Marmot,  Tell

Him That If He Treats His Sister With Great Attention I Shall Love

Him Excessively,  But S'Il Fait Le Fier,  Because He Is A Viscount And

A Howard,  I Shall Give Him Several Spanks Upon His Dernere. Make

Storer Write To Me,  And Make Ekins Read Atterbury Till He Can Say

Him By Heart.

 

(116) Lady Juliana Howard Was Lord Carlisle'S Youngest Sister. She

Died Unmarried.

 

 

 

 

By The End Of August,  Selwyn Had Escaped From Gloucester And Was

Again Among His Friends And In His Favourite Haunts In London.

 

 

 

 

[1774,] Aug. 25,  Thursday Night,  Almack'S.--Here Are The Duke Of

Roxb[Urgh],  Vernon,  James,  And Sir W. Draper At Whist; Boothby,

Richard,  And R. Fletcher At Quinze. I Dined To-Day At The Duke Of

Argyle'S(117) At A Quarter Before Four. He And The Duchess Went To

Richmond At Six. The Maccaroni Dinner Was At Mannin'S. My Eyes Are

Still Very Painful To Me At Night,  And I Do Not Know What I Shall Do

For Them. I Hear Of No News; That Of The Duchess Of Leinster'S(118)

Match Is Very Equivoque; And Extreme Their Drawing-Room.

 

I (Am) In constant Expectation Of Being Sent For Again To

Gloucester,  And Begin (Sic) A Canvas. I Think If I Prevent It,  And

An Opposition,  I Shall Be Very Vain Of My Conduct. There Is Nothing

So Flattering As The Shewing People Who Thought That They Could Dupe

You,  That You Know More Of The Matter Than They Do. I Know Too

Little To Be Active,  But Have Prudence Enough To Take No Steps While

I Am In The Dark Upon The Suggestion Of Others Who Cannot Possibly

Interest Themselves For Me. But I Really Think It Will Be A Miracle

If This Is Not A Troublesome And Expensive Election To Me. However,

I Will Not Anticipate The Evil By Groaning About It Before It

Happens. . . .

 

The Duke Of Newcastle Is To Bring Will Hanger Into Parliament,  But

What Is To Pay For His Chair To Go Down To The House The Lord Knows;

They Tell Me That There Is Absolutely Not A Shilling Left.

 

(117) John,  Fifth Duke Of Argyll (1723-1806). He Had Married For His

Second Wife The Duchess Of Hamilton,  Nee Gunning,  The Famous Beauty.

 

(118) Lady Amelia Mary (1731-1814),  Daughten,  Neer Of Charles,  Second Duke

Of Richmond,  As Celebrated For Her Beauty And Charm As Her Sisters,

Lady Holland,  Lady Louisa Connolly,  And Lady Sarah Bunbury,  The

Chapter 18 Pg 142

Reference Is Evidently To Her Approaching Second Marriage To Mr.

Ogilvy.

 

 

 

 

The Correspondence Of 1775 Begins With The Frequent Story Of Charles

Fox'S Debts. It Has Been Well Said Of Carlisle,  That Each Fresh

Instance Of Prodigality In Fox "Affected His Generous Heart With

Anxiety For The Character,  The Health,  And The Happiness Of His

Friend Before He Found Time To Compute And Lament Its Calamitous

Influence On His Own Fortunes."(119) Selwyn'S Solicitude For The

Welfare Of His Friend Urged Him,  As We See In The Following Letter,

To Something Like Impatient Expostulation On His Forbearance And

Good Nature.

 

 

 

 

(1775?) (Beginning Wanting.) . . . Gregg Wants Me To Dun Charles. He

Lost Last Night 800 Pounds,  As Brooks Told Me To-Day. He Receives

Money From More The Attorney. He Forestalls All He Is To Receive,

And Unless The Importunity Begins With You,  Mine Will Avail Nothing.

Besides,  I Fairly Own That I Cannot Keep My Temper. My Ideas,

Education,  And Former Experience,  Or Inexperience,  Of These Things,

Make Me See Some Things In The Most Horrible Light Which You Can

Conceive,  And I Am Far From Being Singular. Pray Write A Letter To

Charles,  A Tella Fin Que De Raison; Otherwise There Will Be No

Ability Left,  And Then It Will Be To No Purpose.

 

What Management You Choose To Have With Him Is More Than I Can

Comprehend. I Can Conceive The Intimacy Between You. Your Delicacy

Of Temper,  Ten Thousand Nuances De Sentiments. But I Can Never

Conceive That All Feeling,  All The Principle,  &C.,  Should Be Of One

Side Only. If You Don'T Press It,  He Will Not Think It Pressing,  And

Will Say So; That Must Depend Upon What You Choose To Reveal. He May

Not Think You Want It,  Or May Think That All Mire In Which He

Wallows Is As Indifferent To You As To Him. Je Me Perds Dans Toutes

Ces Reflections. My God,  If They Did Not Concern You,  I Should Not

Care Who Were The Objects Of Them.

 

(119) "The Early History Of Charles James Fox," P. 460.

 

 

 

 

1775,  Aug. 1,  Tuesday Afternoon,  From Your Own House,  Below Stairs.

--I Came From Richmond This Morning On Purpose To Meet Gregg Here To

Dinner,  And We Have Had Our Leg Of Mutton Together; A Poor Epitome

Of Roman Greatness. I Believe,  As Lord Grantham Told Me,  Few Have

So Little Philosophy As I Have. You Have A Great Deal,  Having A Much

More Manly Understanding. . . .

 

I Have Been Misunderstood About Stavordale,  Because Just What You

Tell Me You Approve Of Is What I Meant To Propose,  Or If I Had Any

Conception Beyond It,  It Was From A Sudden Thought Which I Retract.

I Have Said A Few Words To Charles,  But I Do Not Find That He Has

More Intercourse With Him Than You Have. He Says That There Can Be

Chapter 18 Pg 143

No Doubt Of The Validity And Payment Of The Debt,  And There Is No

Anticipation Of It. But It Is Not To Be Expected That Charles Should

Think More Of Stavordale'S Debt Than His Own. He Lost In Three

Nights Last Week 3,000,  As He Told Me Himself,  And Has Lent Richard

God Knows What; The Account,  And Friendship,  And Want Of It,  Between

Them Is As Incomprehensible To Me As All The Rest Of Their History.

It Is A Mystery I Shall Never Enquire Into,  When What Concerns You

Is Out Of The Question. I Never Heard Of The Same Thing In all The

First Part Of My Life,  And It Shall Be My Own Fault If I Hear Any

More Of It.

 

I Rode Over Yesterday To Lord Besborough'S At Roehampton,  On Purpose

To See Lord Fitzwilliam,(120) And Had A Long Discourse With Him In

The Garden. He Was Excessively Pleased With The Account Which I Gave

Him Of The Present State Of Your Affairs,  Together With Your Manner

Of Expressing Yourself About Them. Every Word Which Dropped From Him

Discovered The Real Interest Which He Took In Whatever Concerned

You,  And His Affection For You. He Is A Very Valuable Young Man.

 

Hare Went Away Without Being Certain That He Was To Go To Castle H.

He Will Excuse Me If I Don'T Rely Upon His Resolute Was To Gat

Gates Had So Splendidly Started. Nu Delta Was In The Throes Of One Of

Those Changes So Characteristic Of Fraternities.

 

Chapter 19 Pg 144

 

Hugh Spent His Last College Vacation At Home,  Working On The Farm,

Reading,  Occasionally Dancing At Corley Lake,  And Thinking A Great Deal.

He Saw Janet Harton,  Now Janet Moffitt,  Several Times At The Lake And

Wondered How He Could Ever Have Adored Her. She Was Still Childlike,

Still Dainty And Pretty,  But To Hugh She Was Merely A Talking Doll,  And

He Felt A Little Sorry For Her Burly,  Rather Stupid Husband Who Lumbered

About After Her Like A Protecting Watch-Dog.

 

He Met Plenty Of Pretty Girls At The Lake,  But,  As He Said,  He Was "Off

Women For Good." He Was Afraid Of Them; He Had Been Severely Burnt,  And

While The Fire Still Fascinated Him,  It Frightened Him,  Too. Women,  He

Was Sure,  Were Shallow Creatures,  Dangerous To A Man'S Peace Of Mind And

Self-Respect. They Were All Right To Dance With And Pet A Bit; But That

Was All,  Absolutely All.

 

He Thought A Lot About Girls That Summer And Even More About His Life

After Graduation From College. What Was He Going To Do? Life Stretched

Ahead Of Him For One Year Like A Smooth,  Flowered Plain--And Then The

Abyss. He Felt Prepared To Do Nothing At All,  And He Was Not Swept By An

Overpowering Desire To Do Anything In Particular. Writing Had The

Greatest Appeal For Him,  But He Doubted His Ability. Teach? Perhaps. But

Chapter 19 Pg 145

Teaching Meant Graduate Work. Well,  He Would See What The Next Year At

College Would Show. He Was Going To Take A Course In composition With

Professor Henley,  And If Henley Thought His Gifts Warranted It,  He Would

Ask His Father For A Year Or Two Of Graduate Work At Harvard.

 

College Was Pleasant That Last Year. It Was Pleasant To Wear A Blue

Sweater With An Orange S On It; It Was Pleasant,  Too,  To Wear A Small

White Hat That Had A Blue B On The Crown,  The Insignia Of The Boule And

A Sign That He Was A Person To Be Respected And Obeyed; It Was Pleasant

To Be Spoken To By The Professors As One Who Had Reached Something

Approaching Manhood; Life Generally Was Pleasant,  Not So Exciting As The

Three Preceding Years But Fuller And Richer. Early In The First Term He

Was Elected To Helmer,  An Honor Society That Possessed A Granite "Tomb,"

A Small Windowless Building In Which The Members Were Supposed To

Discuss Questions Of Great Importance And Practice Secret Rites Of

Awe-Inspiring Wonder. As A Matter Of Fact,  The Monthly Meetings Were

Nothing But "Bull Fests," Or As One Cynical Member Put It,  "We Wear A

Gold Helmet On Our Sweaters And Chew The Fat Once A Month." True

Enough,  But That Gold Helmet Glittered Enticingly In The Eyes Of Every

Student Who Did Not Possess One.

 

For The First Time Hugh'S Studies Meant More To Him Than The

Undergraduate Life. He Had Chosen His Instructors Carefully,  Having

Learned From Three Years Of Experience That The Instructor Was Far More

Important Than The Title Of The Course. He Had Three Classes In

Literature,  One In Music--Partly Because It Was A "Snap" And Partly

Because He Really Wanted To Know More About Music--And His Composition

Course With Henley,  To Him The Most Important Of The Lot.

 

He Really Studied,  And At The End Of The First Term Received Three A'S

And Two B'S,  A Very Creditable Record. What Was More Important Than His

Record,  However,  Was The Fact That He Was Really Enjoying His Work; He

Was Intellectually Awakened And Hungry For Learning.

 

Also,  For The First Time He Really Enjoyed The Fraternity. Jack Lawrence

Was Proving An Able President,  And Nu Delta Pledged A Freshman

Delegation Of Which Hugh Was Genuinely Proud. There Were Plenty Of Men

In The Chapter Whom He Did Not Like Or Toward Whom He Was Indifferent,

But He Had Learned To Ignore Them And Center His Interest In Those Men

Whom He Found Congenial.

 

The First Term Was Ideal,  But The Second Became A Maelstrom Of Doubt And

Trouble In Which He Whirled Madly Around Trying To Find Some Philosophy

That Would Solve His Difficulties.

 

When Norry Returned To Coll,  By Which I Flatter Myself To Bring About What Will Be In Many

Respects Of Use To That Little Infant,  Who Has Very Little Thought

Bestowed Upon Her But By My Means. It Is A Sore Grievance To Me,  But

It Is My Lot And I Must Endure It.

 

My Excursions To Town Are Not Above Once In Six Days. On Saturday

Last On My Return Hither I Was Indeed Very Near Demolished. My

Coachman Thought Fit To Run For The Turnpike,  As The Phrase Is,  And

Against A Four-Wheeled Waggon With Six Horses. He Seemed To Me To

Have Very Little Chance Of Carrying His Point,  If It Was Not To

Demolish Me And My Chaise,  But Almost Sure Of Succeeding In That. I

Chapter 19 Pg 146

Called,  Roared,  And Scolded To No Purpose,  Il Ne Daigna Pas

M'Ecouter Un Instant: So The Consequence Was,  What Might Be

Expected,  He Came With All The Force Imaginable Against The Turnpike

Gate,  (And) Set My Chaise Upon Its Head. Mr. Craufurd Was With Me,

And On The Left Side,  Which Was Uppermost,  And We Were For A Small

Space Of Time Lying Under The Horses,  At Their Mercy,  And The

Waggoner'S,  Who Seemed Very Much Inclined To Whip Them On,  And From

One Or Other,  That Is,  Either From The Going Of The Waggon Over Us,

Or The Kicking Of The Horses,  We Were Both In The Most Imminent

Danger. Lady Harrington Was In Her Coach Just Behind Us,  And Took Me

Into It,  Mr. Craufurd Got Into Mr. Henry Stanhope'S Phaeton,  And So

We Went To Richmond,  Leaving The Chaise,  As We Thought,  All

Shattered To Pieces In The Road. This Happened Just After I Had

Finished My Last Letter To You,  And Which I Think Had Very Near Been

The Last That I Should Ever Have Wrote To You,  As Those Tell Me Who

Saw The Position In Which We For Some Time Were.

 

Postscript. Richmond,  Saturday Morning.--I Received To-Day Yours

From C(Astle) H(Oward) Of Last Monday,  The 28Th August,  And You May

Be Sure That It Is No Small Pleasure To Me To Find By Every Letter

Which I Receive,  That There Is Such An Attention To Your Affairs,  As

Is Really Worthy Your Understanding And Capacity. You Will Find Your

Account In It,  By Preventing Ennui In Yourself And Roguery In

Others,  Besides A Thousand Train (Sic) Of Evils That Are Inseparable

From Dissipation And Negligence. I Hope That You Made My Compliments

To Mr. Nicolson; Il A L'Air D'Un Personnage Tres Respectable,  D'Un

Homme Affide Et Sur. I Cannot Afford To Wish Any Period Of Mine,  At

Ever So Little Distance,  To Be Arrived,  But I Am Tempted To Wish

That I Was Two Years Older,  For This Reason,  That I Am Confident

Your Affairs,  And The State Of Your Mind,  Will Be Pleasanter Than It

Has Been In For A Great While. So My Wife(123) Has Made You Another

Agreeable Visit For A Fortnight,  As She Called It. I Am Sorry For

What You Tell Me Of The Visit Which Was Not Made. I Don'T Love

Excuses,  But Perhaps There May Be Some Which Need Not Give Any

Jealousy Of Want Of True Affection. I Hope You Will Receive Mine As

Such,  Or I Would Set Out For C(Astle) H(Oward) Directly. I Have

Totally Laid Aside The Thoughts Of Going This Year To Matson,  Or

Even To Gloucester. I Have No Engagement,  But To Be One Day At

Luggershall,  But That With Difficulty Can Be Dispensed With. Neither

Lord N(Orth) Or His Parliament,  Or Anything Else Shall Prevent Me

From Going To You When You Desire It.

 

But The Alteration In The Little Girl Is So Visibly For The Better,

Since She Has Been In This Air,  And Mrs. Craufurd Acts So Much Like

A Guardian To Her,  That I Am In Hopes By Degrees To Be The Means Of

Placing Her Where My Mind Will For The Present Be Easy About Her,

And That She May Be Brought Up With That Education That,  With The

Help Of Other Advantages,  May In Some Measure Recompense Her For The

Ill Fortune Of The First Part Of Her Life. This Is,  If My Heart Was

Kid Open,  All That You Could See In It At Present,  Except The

Anxiety Which Is Now Almost Over In Regard To You.

 

For I Verily Believe That What Has Happened,  Although It Came Upon

Me Like Coup De Tonnerre,  And Has Given Me A Great Deal Of Bile,  And

My Stomach I Find Weakened From That Cause,  More Than Fe That I Wouldn'T

       Answer Your Letter--And Here I Am Doing It. I'Ve Fought

       And Fought,  And Fought Until I Can'T Fight Any Longer;

       I'Ve Held Out As Long As I Can. Oh,  Hugh My Dearest,  I

Chapter 19 Pg 147

       Love You. I Can'T Help It--I Do,  I Do. I'Ve Tried So

       Hard Not To--And When I Found That I Couldn'T Help It I

       Swore That I Would Never Let You Know--Because I Knew

       That You Didn'T Love Me And That I Am Bad For You. I

       Thought I Loved You Enough To Give You Up--And I Might

       Have Succeeded If You Hadn'T Written To Me.

 

       Oh,  Hugh Dearest,  I Nearly Fainted When I Saw Your

       Letter. I Hardly Dared Open It--I Just Looked And Looked

       At Your Beloved Handwriting. I Cried When I Did Read It.

       I Thought Of The Letters You Used To Write To Me--And

       This One Was So Different--So Cold And Impersonal. It

       Hurt Me Dreadfully.

 

       I Said That I Wouldn'T Answer It--I Swore That I

       Wouldn'T. And Then I Read Your Old Letters--I'Ve Kept

       Every One Of Them--And Looked At Your Picture--And

       To-Night You Just Seemed To Be Here--I Could See Your

       Sweet Smile And Feel Your Dear Arms Around Me--And Hugh,

       My Darling,  I Had To Write--I _Had_ To.

 

       My Pride Is All Gone. I Can'T Think Any More. You Are

       All That Matters. Oh,  Hugh Dearest,  I Love You So Damned

       Hard.

 

                                                Cynthia.

 

 

 

 

Two Hours After The Letter Arrived It Was Followed By A Telegram:

 

 

 

 

       Don'T Pay Any Attention To My Letter. I Was Crazy When I

       Wrote It.

 

 

 

 

Hugh Had Sense Enough To Pay No Attention To The Telegram; He Tossed It

Into The Fireplace And Reread The Letter. What Could He Do? What

_Should_ He Do? He Was Torn By Doubt And Confusion. He Looked At Her

Picture,  And All His Old Longing For Her Returned. But He Had Learned To

Distrust That Longing. He Had Got Along For A Year Without Her; He Had

Almost Ceased Thinking Of Her When Norry Brought Her Back To His Mind.

He Had To Answer Her Letter. What Could He Say? He Paced The Floor Of

His Room,  Ran His Hands Through His Hair,  Pounded His Forehead; But No

Solution Came. He Took A Long Walk Into The Country And Came Back More

Confused Than Ever. He Was Flattered By Her Letter,  Moved By It; He

Tried To Persuade Himself That He Loved Her As She Loved Him--And He

Could Not Do It. His Passion For Her Was No Longer Overpowering,  And No

Amount Of Thinking Could Make It So. In The End He Temporized. His

Letter Was Brief.

 

 

 

Chapter 19 Pg 148

 

       Dear Cynthia:

 

       There Is No Need,  I Guess,  To Tell You That Your Letter

       Swept Me Clean Off My Feet. I Am Still Dizzy With

       Confusion. I Don'T Know What To Say,  And I Have Decided

       That It Is Best For Me Not To Say Anything Until I Know

       My Own Mind. I Couldn'T Be Fair Either To You Or Myself

       Otherwise. And I Want To Be Fair; I Must Be.

 

       Give Me Time,  Please. It Is Because I Care So Much For

       You That I Ask It. Don'T Worry If You Don'T Hear From Me

       For Weeks. My Silence Won'T Mean That I Have Forgotten

       You; It Will Mean That I Am Thinking Of You.

 

                                Sincerely,

                                                Hugh.

 

 

 

 

Her Answer Came Promptly:

 

 

 

 

       Hugh,  My Dear--

 

       I Was A Fish To Write That Letter--And I Know That I'Ll

       Never Forgive Myself. But I Couldn'T Help It--I Just

       Couldn'T Help It. I Am Glad That You Are Keeping Your

       Head Because I'Ve Lost Mine Entirely. Take All The Time

       You Like. Do You Hate Me For Losing My Pride? I Do.

 

                                Your Stupid

                                                Cynthia.

 

 

 

 

Weeks Went By,  And Hugh Found No Solution. He Damned College With All

His Heart And Soul. What Good Had It Done Him Anyway? Here He Was With A

Serious Problem On His Hands And He Couldn'T Solve It Any Better Than He

Could Have When He Was A Freshman. Four Years Of Studying And Lectures

And Examinations,  And The First Time He Bucked Up Against A Bit Of Life

He Was Licked.

 

Eventually He Wrote To Her And Told Her That He Was Fonder Of Her Than

He Was Of Any Girl That He Had Ever Known But That He Didn'T Know

Whether He Was In Love With Her Or Not. "I Have Learned To Distrust My

Own Emotions," He Wrote,  "And My Own Decisions. The More I Think The

More Bewildered I Become. I Am Afraid To Ask You To Marry Me For Fear

That I'Ll Wreck Both Our Lives,  And I'M Afraid Not To Ask You For The

Same Reason. Do You Think That Time Will Solve Our Problem? I Don'T

Know. I Don'T Know Anything."

 

She Replied That She Was Willing To Wait Just So Long As They Continued

To Correspond; She Said That She Could No Longer Bear Not To Hear From

Chapter 19 Pg 149

Him. So They Wrote To Each Other,  And The Tangle Of Their Relations

Became More Hopelessly Knotted. Cynthia Never Sent Another Letter So

Unguarded As Her First,  But She Made No Pretense Of Hiding Her Love.

 

As Hugh Sank Deeper And Deeper Into The Bog Of Confusion And Distress,

His Contempt For His College "Education" Increased. One Night In May He

Expressed That Contempt To A Small Group Of Seniors.

 

"College Is Bunk," Said Hugh Sternly,  "Pure Bunk. They Tell Us That We

Learn To Think. Rot! I Haven'T Learned To Think; A Child Can Solve A

Simple Human Problem As Well As I Can. College Has Played Hell With Me.

I Came Here Four Years Ago A Darned Nice Kid,  If I Do Say So Myself. I

Was Chock-Full Of Ideals And Illusions. Well,  College Has Smashed Most

Of Those Ideals And Knocked The Illusions Plumb To Hell. I Thought,  For

Example,  That All College Men Were Gentlemen; Well,  Most Of Them Aren'T.

I Thought That All Of Them Were Intelligent And Hard Students."

 

The Group Broke Into Loud Laughter. "Me,  Too," Said George Winsor When

The Noise Had Abated. "I Thought That I Was Coming To A Regular

Educational Heaven,  Halls Of Learning And All That Sort Of Thing. Why,

It'S A Farce. Here I Am Sporting A Phi Bete Key,  An Honor Student If You

Please,  And All That I Really Know As A Result Of My College 'Education'

Is The Fine Points Of Football And How To Play Poker. I Don'T Really

Know One Damn Thing About Anything."

 

The Other Men Were Jack Lawrence And Pudge Jamieson. Jack Was An Earnest

Chap,  Serious And Hard Working But Without A Trace Of Brilliance. He,

Too,  Wore A Phi Beta Kappa Key,  And So Did Pudge. Hugh Was The Only One

Of The Group Who Had Not Won That Honor; The Fact That He Was The Only

One Who Had Won A Letter Was Hardly,  He Felt,  Complete Justification.

His Legs No Longer Seemed More Important Than His Brains; In Fact,  When

He Had Sprained A Tendon And Been Forced To Drop Track,  He Had Been

Genuinely Pleased.

 

Pudge Was Quite As Plump As He Had Been As A Freshman And Quite As

Jovial,  But He Did Not Tell So Many Smutty Stories. He Still Persisted

In Crossing His Knees In Spite Of The Difficulties Involved. When

Winsor Finished Speaking,  Pudge Forced His Legs Into His Favorite

Position For Them And Then Twinkled At Winsor Through His Glasses.

 

"Right You Are,  George," He Said In His Quick Way. "I Wear A Phi Bete

Key,  Too. We Both Belong To The World'S Greatest Intellectual

Fraternity,  But What In Hell Do We Know? We'Ve All Majored In english

Except Jack,  And I'Ll Bet Any One Of Us Can Give The Others An Exam

Offhand That They Can'T Pass. I'M Going To Law School. I Hope To God

That I Learn Something There. I Certainly Don'T Feel That I Know

Anything Now As A Result Of My Four Years Of 'Higher Education.'"

 

"Well,  If You Fellows Feel That Way," Said Hugh Mournfully,  "How Do You

Suppose I Feel? I Made My First Really Good Record Last Term,  And That

Wasn'T Any World Beater. I'Ve Learned How To Gamble And Smoke And Drink

And Pet In college,  But That'S About All That I Have Learned. I'M Not As

Fine As I Was When I Came Here. I'Ve Been Coarsened And Cheapened; All

Of Us Have. I Take Things For Granted That Shocked Me Horribly Once. I

Know That They Ought To Shock Me Now,  But They Don'T. I'Ve Made Some

Friends And I'Ve Had A Wonderful Time,  But I Certainly Don'T Feel That I

Have Got Any Other Value Out Of College."

Chapter 19 Pg 150

 

Winsor Could Not Sit Still And Talk. He Filled His Pipe Viciously,

Lighted It,  And Then Jumped Up And Leaned Against The Mantel. "I Admit

Everything That'S Been Said,  But I Don'T Believe That It Is Altogether

Our Fault." He Was Intensely In earnest,  And So Were His Listeners.

"Look At The Faculty. When I Came Here I Thought That They Were All Wise

Men Because They Were On The Faculty. Well,  I'Ve Found Out Otherwise.

Some Of Them Know A Lot And Can'T Teach,  A Few Of Them Know A Lot And

Can Teach,  Some Of Them Know A Little And Can'T Teach,  And Some Of Them

Don'T Know Anything And Can'T Explain C-A-T. Why,  Look At Kempton. That

Freshman,  Larson,  Showed Me A Theme The Other Day That Kempton Had

Corrected. It Was Full Of Errors That Weren'T Marked,  And It Was Nothing

In The World But Drip. Even Larson Knew That,  But He'S The Foxy Kid; He

Wrote The Theme About Kempton. All Right--Kempton Gives Him A B And

Tells Him That It Is Very Amusing. Hell Of A Lot Larson'S Learning. Look

At Kane In Math. I Had Him When I Was A Freshman."

 

"Me,  Too," Hugh Chimed In.

 

"'Nough Said,  Then. Math'S Dry Enough,  God Knows,  But Kane Makes It

Dryer. He'S A Born Desiccator. He Could Make 'Hamlet' As Dry As

Calculus."

 

"Right-O," Said Pudge. "But Mitchell Could Make Calculus As Exciting As

'Hamlet.' It'S Fifty-Fifty."

 

"And They Fired Mitchell." Jack Lawrence Spoke For The First Time. "I

Have That Straight. The Administration Seems Afraid Of A Man That Can

Teach. They'Ve Made Buchanan A Full Professor,  And There Isn'T A Man In

College Who Can Tell What He'S Talking About. He'S Written A Couple Of

Books That Nobody Reads,  And That Makes Him A Scholar. I Was Forced To

Take Three Courses With Him. They Were Agony,  And He Never Taught Me A

Damn Thing."

 

"Most Of Them Don'T Teach You A Damn Thing," Winsor Exclaimed,  Tapping

His Pipe On The Mantel. "They Either Tell You Something That You Can

Find More Easily In a Book,  Or Just Confuse You With A Lot Of Ponderous

Lectures That Put You To Sleep Or Drive You Crazy If You Try To

Understand Them."

 

"There Are Just About A Dozen Men In This College Worth Listening To,"

Hugh Put In,  "And I'Ve Got Three Of Them This Term. I'M Learning More

Than I Did In My Whole Three First Years. Let'S Be Fair,  Though. We'Re

Blaming It All On The Profs,  And You Know Damn Well That We Don'T Study.

All We Try To Do Is To Get By--I Don'T Mean You Phi Betes; I Mean All

The Rest Of Us--And If We Can Put Anything Over On The Profs We Are

Tickled Pink. We'Re Like A Lot Of Little Kids In Grammar-School. Just

Look At The Cheating That Goes On,  The Copying Of Themes,  And The

Cribbing. It'S Rotten!"

 

Winsor Started To Protest,  But Hugh Rushed On. "Oh,  I Know That The

Majority Of The Fellows Don'T Consciously Cheat; I'M Talking About The

Copying Of Math Problems And The Using Of Trots And The Paraphrasing Of

'Literary Digest' Articles For Themes And All That Sort Of Thing. If

More Than Half Of The Fellows Don'T Do That Sort Of Thing Some Time Or

Other In college,  I'Ll Eat My Hat. And We All Know Darned Well That We

Aren'T Supposed To Do It,  But The Majority Of Fellows Cheat In Some Way

Or Other Before They Graduate!

Chapter 19 Pg 151

 

"We Aren'T So Much. Do You Remember,  George,  What Jimmie Henley Said To

Us When We Were Sophomores In english Thirty-Six? He Laid Us Out Cold,

Said That We Were As Standardized As Fords And That We Were Ashamed Of

Anything Intellectual. Well,  He Was Right. Do You Remember How He Ended

By Saying That If We Were The Cream Of The Earth,  He Felt Sorry For The

Skimmed Milk--Or Something Like That?"

 

"Sure,  _I_ Remember," Winsor Replied,  Running His Fingers Through His

Rusty Hair. "He Certainly Pulled A Heavy Line That Day. He Was Right,

Too."

 

"I'Ll Tell You What," Exclaimed Pudge Suddenly,  So Suddenly That His

Crossed Legs Parted Company And His Foot Fell Heavily To The Floor.

"Let'S Put It Up To Henley In class To-Morrow. Let'S Ask Him Straight

Out If He Thinks College Is Worth While."

 

"He'Ll Hedge," Objected Lawrence. "All The Profs Do If You Ask Them

Anything Like That." Winsor Laughed. "You Don'T Know Jimmie Henley. He

Won'T Hedge. You'Ve Never Had A Class With Him,  But Hugh And Pudge And

I Are All In english Fifty-Three,  And We'Ll Put It Up To Him. He'Ll Tell

Us What He Thinks All Right,  And I Hope To God That He Says It Is Worth

While. I'D Like To Have Somebody Convince Me That I'Ve Got Something Out

Of These Four Years Beside Lower Ideals. Hell,  Sometimes I Think That

We'Re All Damn Fools. We Worship Athletics--No Offense,  Hugh--Above

Everything Else; We Gamble And Drink And Talk Like Bums; And About Every

So Often Some Fellow Has To Go Home Because A Lovely Lady Has Left Him

With Bitter,  Bitter Memories. I'M With Henley. If We'Re The Cream Of The

Earth--Well,  Thank The Lord,  We'Re Not."

 

"Who Is," Lawrence Asked Earnestly.

 

"God Knows."

 

 

 

Chapter 20 Pg 152

 

 

 

English 53 Had Only A Dozen Men In It; So Henley Conducted The Course In

A Very Informal Fashion. The Men Felt Free To Bring Up For Discussion

Any Topic That Interested Them.

 

Nobody Was Surprised,  Therefore,  When George Winsor Asked Henley To

Express His Opinion Of The Value Of A College Education. He Reminded

Henley Of What He Had Said Two Years Before,  And Rapidly Gave A Resume

Of The Discussion That Resulted In The Question He Was Asking. "We'D

Like To Know,  Too," He Concluded,  Grinning Wickedly,  "Just Whom You

Consider The Cream Of The Earth. You Remember You Said That If We Were

You Felt Sorry For The Skimmed Milk."

 

Henley Leaned Back In His Chair And Laughed. "Yes," He Said,  "I Remember

Saying That. I Didn'T Think,  Though,  That You Would Remember It For Two

Chapter 20 Pg 153

Years. You Seem To Remember Most Of What I Said. I Am Truly Astonished."

He Grinned Back At Winsor. "The Swine Seem To Have Eaten The Pearls."

 

The Class Laughed,  But Winsor Was Not One To Refuse The Gambit. "They

Were Very Indigestible," He Said Quickly.

 

"Good!" Henley Exclaimed. "I Wanted Them To Give You A Belly-Ache,  And I

Am Delighted That You Still Suffer."

 

"We Do," Pudge Jamieson Admitted,  "But We'D Like To Have A Little Mercy

Shown To Us Now. We'Ve Spent Four Years Here,  And While We'Ve Enjoyed

Them,  We'Ve Just About Made Up Our Minds That They Have Been All In all

Wasted Years."

 

"No." Henley Was Decisive. His Playful Manner Entirely Disappeared. "No,

Not Wasted. You Have Enjoyed Them,  You Say. Splendid Justification. You

Will Continue To Enjoy Them As The Years Grow Between You And Your

College Days. All Men Are Sentimental About College,  And In That

Sentimentality There Is Continuous Pleasure."

 

"Your Doubt Delights Me. Your Feeling That You Haven'T Learned Anything

Delights Me,  Too. It Proves That You Have Learned A Great Deal. It Is

Only The Ignoramus Who Thinks He Is Wise; The Wise Man Knows That He Is

An Ignoramus. That'S A Platitude,  But It Is None The Less True. I Have

Cold Comfort For You: The More You Learn,  The Less Confident You Will Be

Of Your Own Learning,  The More Utterly Ignorant You Will Feel. I Have

Never Known So Much As,  The Day I Graduated From High School. I Held My

Diploma And The Knowledge Of The Ages In My Hand. I Had Never Heard Of

Socrates,  But I Would Have Challenged Him To A Debate Without The

Slightest Fear."

 

"Since Then I Have Grown More Humble,  So Humble That There Are Times

When I Am Ashamed To Come Into The Class-Room. What Right Have I To

Teach Anybody Anything? I Mean That Quite Sincerely. Then I Remember

That,  Ignorant As I Am,  The Undergraduates Are More Ignorant. I Take

Heart And Mount The Rostrum Ready To Speak With The Authority Of A

Pundit."

 

He Realized That He Was Sliding Off On A Tangent And Paused To Find A

New Attack. Pudge Jamieson Helped Him.

 

"I Suppose That'S All True," He Said,  "But It Doesn'T Explain Why

College Is Really Worth While. The Fact Remains That Most Of Us Don'T

Learn Anything,  That We Are Coarsened By College,  And That We--Well,  We

Worship False Gods."

 

Henley Nodded In agreement. "It Would Be Hard To Deny Your Asts Consequences Criminal,  And There

Is No Dependence Upon Any One Man Breathing,  Who Pursues It With The

Chaleur Which I Have Done. How Can I Expect Another Man To Trust Me,

If I Cannot Trust Myself?

 

Therefore,  Although March Has Dissolved The Tie,(129) I Beg That You

Will Lay Me Under Some Sort Of Restriction About It. I Do Not Speak

This From Having Now Suffered,  For I Have Not,  As I Told You Before,

Since March Last; That Is,  By The Event. But I Have Been Susceptible

(Since?) Then More Than Once,  And It Has Been My Good Fortune And

Chapter 20 Pg 154

Not My Prudence Which Has Kept Me Above Water.

 

What I Propose Is,  To Receive A Guinea,  Or Two Guineas,  And To Pay

Twenty,  For Every Ten Which I Shall Lose In The Same Day,  Above 50,

At Any Game Of Chance. I Reserve The 50 For An Unexpected Necessity

Of Playing In The Country,  Or Elsewhere,  With Women. All Things

Considered,  It Is The Best Tie,  And The Tax The Easiest Paid,  And

Restrictive Enough,  And Twenty Guineas You Will Take; And If You Tie

Me Up,  I Beg My Forfeitures May Go To The Children,  And Then Perhaps

I May Forfeit For Their Sake,  You'Ll Say. I Really Think It Will Be

A Wise Measure For Me,  And A Safe One; And Let This Tie Be For This

Year Only,  And Then,  If It Is Demonstrable That My Fortune Is

Impaired By Not Playing,  The Tie Will Be Over,  And Not Renewed The

Next. In The Mean Time,  And Till I Shall Hear Your Sentiments Upon

This,  I Must Avoid Going To Almack'S,  And So I Will. . . .

 

I Dine To-Day At Harry St. John'S,  And To-Morrow At Eden'S(130); And

On Monday All The St. Johns In The World,  Old And Young,  Dine Here.

 

Lord Northington(131) Brought Me Home Two Nights In His Coach,  And

In One Of Them The Conversation Turned Upon You. He Said There Was

Nobody Had A Better Idea Of What A Gentleman Should Be Than

Carlisle; That You Was So Throughout. There Is A Singularity And

Frankness In Some People'S Manner Of Delivering Their Sentiments,  By

Which They Receive Great Advantage. You Remember Sir R. Payne'S Way

Of Describing You,  Which Was Still More Odd; He Said If Anybody

Looked Through The Keyhole At Any Time To See How You Behaved When

You Was Alone,  That He Was Sure There Would Be No More Impropriety

In It Than If You Had A Hundred Eyes Upon You. I Don'T Like

Commending You Myself,  But I Like To Hear Others Do So,  And

Especially When They Speak About What They Think,  And When What They

Think Has The Air Of Verite In It.

 

I Hope You Make My Compliments To Ekins,  And That He Has By This

Time Read Atterbury Quite Through. I Do Not Propose The Bishop As A

Pattern For Anything But For Eloquence; And For Argument,  On N'En

Trouve Pas,  Chez Lui.

 

I Think That Storer,  John St. John,(132) And I,  Shall Set Out In

About Ten Days. My Coach,  Cloak,  And Muff Are Ready. Adieu Most

Affectionately. My Respects To Lady C(Arlisle) And My Love To The

Children,  And Last Of All Do Not Despair Of Me About Hazard,  For It

Being What I Love So Much,  Is Precisely The Reason Why I Shall Be

More Upon Guard In Respect To It. I Do Not Mean By This To Limit,

But The Ense Recidendum; Every Other Parti Is Delusive And Childish.

 

 

 

 

(129) See Ante,  Note 105.

 

(130) William Eden,  Lord Auckland (1744-1814). He Was Educated At

Eton And Oxford; Called To The Bar In 1769. In 1778 Was One Of The

Peace Commissioners To America With Lord Carlisle,  Accompanying Him

Later To Ireland As Secretary. Between 1785 And 1789 He Filled

Appointments As Ambassador Successively To France,  Spain,  And The

United Provinces. In 1789 He Was Created Baron Auckland In Ireland,

And In 1793 Raised To The English Peerage. He Married Eleanor,

Chapter 20 Pg 156

Daughter Of Sir Gilbert Elliot And Sister Of The First Earl Of

Minto.

 

(131) Robert Henley,  Second Earl Of Northington (1747-1782),  A

Friend Of Charles Fox. The Main Event Of His Political Life Was His

Tenure Of The Office Of Lord-Lieutenant Of Ireland In The Coalition

Ministry In 1783.

 

(132) John St. John (1746-1793),  Third Son Of John,  Second Viscount

St. John,  A Typical Specimen Of The Macaroni. He Was An M.P. From

1773 To 178perience. He Discovers That He And His Fellows Are Made Of

Very Brittle Clay: Usually He Loathes Himself; Often He Loathes His

Fellows.

 

"College Isn'T The Elysium That It Is Painted In Stories And Novels,  But

I Feel Sorry For Any Intelligent Man Who Didn'T Have The Opportunity To

Go To College. There Is Something Beautiful About One'S College Days,

Something That One Treasures All His Life. As We Grow Older,  We Forget

The Hours Of Storm And Stress,  The Class-Room Humiliations,  The Terror

Of Examinations,  The Awful Periods Of Doubt Of God And Man--We Forget

Everything But Athletic Victories,  Long Discussions With Friends,  Campus

Sings,  Fraternity Life,  Moonlight On The Campus,  And Everything That Is

Romantic. The Sting Dies,  And The Beauty Remains.

 

"Why Do Men Give Large Sums Of Money To Their Colleges When Asked?

Because They Want To Help Society? Not At All. The Average Man Doesn'T

Even Take That Into Consideration. He Gives The Money Because He Loves

His Alma Mater,  Because He Has Beautiful And Tender Memories Of Her. No,

Colleges Are Far From Perfect,  Tragically Far From It,  But Any

Institution That Commands Loyalty And Love As Colleges Do Cannot Be

Wholly Imperfect. There Is A Virtue In a College That Uninspired

Administrative Officers,  Stupid Professors,  And Alumni With False Ideals

Cannot Kill. At Times I Tremble For Sanford College; There Are Times

When I Swear At It,  But I Never Cease To Love It."

 

"If You Feel That Way About College,  Why Did You Say Those Things To Us

Two Years Ago?" Hugh Asked. "Because They Were True,  All True. I Was

Talking About The Undergraduates Then,  And I Could Have Said Much More

Cutting Things And Still Been On The Safe Side Of The Truth. There Is,

However,  Another Side,  And That Is What I Am Trying To Give You

Now--Rather Incoherently,  I Know."

 

Hugh Thought Of Cynthia. "I Suppose All That You Say Is True," He

Admitted Dubiously,  "But I Can'T Feel That College Does What It Should

For Us. We Are Told That We Are Taught To Think,  But The Minute We Bump

Up Against A Problem In Living We Are Stumped Just As Badly As We Were

When We Are Freshmen."

 

"Oh,  No,  Not At All. You Solve Problems Every Day That Would Have

Stumped You Hopelessly As A Freshman. You Think Better Than You Did Four

Years Ago,  But No College,  However Perfect,  Can Teach You All The

Solutions Of Life. There Are No Nostrums Or Cure-Alls That The Colleges

Can Give For All The Ills And Sicknesses Of Life. You,  I Am Afraid,  Will

Chapter 20 Pg 157

Have To Doctor Those Yourself."

 

"I See." Hugh Didn'T Altogether See. Both College And Life Seemed More

Complicated Than He Had Thought Them. "I Am Curious To Know," He Added,

"Just Whom You Consider The Cream Of The Earth. That Expression Has

Stuck In My Mind. I Don'T Know Why--But It Has."

 

Henley Smiled. "Probably Because It Is Such A Very Badly Mixed Metaphor.

Well,  I Consider The College Man The Cream Of The Earth."

 

"What?" Four Of The Men Exclaimed,  And All Of Them Sat Suddenly Upright.

 

"Yes--But Let Me Explain. If I Remember Rightly,  I Said That If You Were

The Cream Of The Earth,  I Hoped That God Would Pity The Skimmed Milk.

Well,  Everything Taken Into Consideration,  I Do Think That You Are The

Cream Of The Earth; And I Have No Hope For The Skimmed Milk. Perhaps It

Isn'T Wise For Me To Give Public Expression To My Pessimism,  But You

Ought To Be Old Enough To Stand It."

 

"The Average College Graduate Is A Pretty Poor Specimen,  But All In all

He Is Just About The Best We Have. Please Remember That I Am Talking In

Averages. I Know Perfectly Well That A Great Many Brilliant Men Do Not

Come To College And That A Great Many Stupid Men Do Come,  But The

Colleges Get A Very Fair Percentage Of The Intelligent Ones And A

Comparatively Small Percentage Of The Stupid Ones. In Other Words,  To

Play With My Mixed Metaphor A Bit,  The Cream Is Very Thin In Places And

The Skimmed Milk Has Some Very Thick Clots Of Cream,  But In The End The

Cream Remains The Cream And The Milk The Milk. Everything Taken Into

Consideration,  We Get In The Colleges The Young Men With The Highest

Ideals,  The Loftiest Purpose."

 

"You Want To Tell Me That Those Ideals Are Low And The Purpose

Materialistic And Selfish. I Know It,  But The Average College Graduate,

I Repeat,  Has Loftier Ideals And Is Less Materialistic Than The Average

Man Who Has Not Gone To College. I Wish That I Could Believe That The

College Gives Him Those Ideals. I Can'T,  However. The Colleges Draw The

Best That Society Has To Offer; Therefore,  They Graduate The Best."

 

"Oh,  I Don'T Know," A Student Interrupted. "How About Edison And Ford

And--"

 

"And Shakspere And Sophocles," Henley Concluded For Him. "Edison Is An

Inventive Genius,  And Ford Is A Business Genius. Genius Hasn'T Anything

To Do With Schools. The Colleges,  However,  Could Have Made Both Ford And

Edison Bigger Men,  Though They Couldn'T Have Made Them Lesser Geniuses."

 

"No,  We Must Not Take The Exceptional Man As A Standard; We'Ve Got To

Talk About The Average. The Hand Of The Potter Shook Badly When He Made

Man. It Was At Best A Careless Job. But He Made Some Better Than Others,

Some A Little Less Weak,  A Little More Intelligent. All In all,  Those

Are The Men That Come To College. The Colleges Ought To Do A Thousand

Times More For Those Men Than They Do Do; But,  After All,  They Do

Something For Them,  And I Am Optimistic Enough To Believe That The Time

Will Come When They Will Do More."

 

"Some Day,  Perhaps," He Concluded Very Seriously,  "Our Administrative

Officers Will Be True Educators; Some Day Perhaps Our Faculties Will Be

Chapter 20 Pg 158

Wise Men Really Fitted To Teach; Some Day Perhaps Our Students Will Be

Really Students,  Eager To Learn,  Honest Searchers After Beauty And

Truth. That Day Will Be The Millennium. I Look For The Undergraduates To

Lead Us To It."

 

 

Chapter 21 Pg 159

 

The College Year Swept Rapidly To Its Close,  So Rapidly To The Seniors

That The Days Seemed To Melt In Their Grasp. The Twentieth Of June Would

Bring Them Their Diplomas And The End Of Their College Life. They Felt A

Bit Chesty At The Thought Of That B.S. Or A.B.,  But A Little Sentimental

At The Thought Of Leaving "Old Sanford."

 

Suddenly Everything About The College Became Infinitely Precious--Every

Tradition; Every Building,  No Matter How Ugly; Even The Professors,  Not

Just The Deserving Few--All Of Them.

 

Hugh Took To Wandering About The Campus,  Sometimes Alone,  Thinking Of

Cynthia,  Sometimes With A Favored Crony Such As George Winsor Or Pudge

Jamieson. He Didn'T See Very Much Of Norry The Last Month Or Two Of

College. He Was Just As Fond Of Him As Ever,  But Norry Was Only A

Junior; He Would Not Understand How A Fellow Felt About Sanford When He

Was On The Verge Of Leaving Her. But George And Pudge Did Understand.

The Boys Didn'T Say Much As They Wandered Around The Buildings,  Merely

Strolled Along,  Occasionally Pausing To Laugh Over Some Experience That

Had Happened To One Of Them In The Building They Were Passing.

 

Hugh Could Never Pass Surrey Hall Without Feeling Something Deeper Than

Sentimentality. He Always Thought Of Carl Peters,  From Whom He Had Not

Heard For More Than A Year. He Understood Carl Better Now,  His Desire

To Be A Gentleman And His Despair At Ever Succeeding. Surrey Hall Held

Drama For Hugh,  Not All Of It Pleasant,  But He Had A Deeper Affection

For The Ivy-Covered Dormitory Then He Would Ever Have For The Nu Delta

House. He Wondered What Had Become Of Morse,  The Homesick Freshman.

Poor Morse.... And The Bull Sessions He Had Sat In In Old Surrey. He

Had Learned A Lot From Them,  A Whole Lot....

 

The Chapel Where He Had Slept And Surreptitiously Eaten Doughnuts And

Read "The Sanford News" Suddenly Became A Holy Building,  The Building

That Housed The Soul Of Sanford.... He Knew That He Was Sentimental,  That

He Was Investing Buildings With A Greater Significance Than They Had In

Their Own Right,  But He Continued To Dream Over The Last Four Years And

To Find A Melancholy Beauty In His Own Sentimentality. If It Hadn'T

Been For Cynthia,  He Would Have Been Perfectly Happy.

 

Soon The Examinationnished

At This Boar (Sic),  But Must Excuse It From Me,  Who Hear Nothing

Else.

 

Chapter 21 Pg 160

Indeed,  There Is Another Operation Which Breaks In Upon This

Subject,  I E.,  The Game Of Commerce. Lady Betty Has Taken To This

Game,  And She Makes All The World,  Bon Gre,  Malgre,  Play At It Till

Five O'Clock In The Morning. I Live There Almost; What With Balls,

Bt (?),  Tessier,  Commerce,  Supper,  And Quinze,  I Am Never Out Of The

House. They Have Invited Me To Go To The Oaks,  This Christmas,  But

If Castle Howard Is Too Far,  The Oaks,  I Assure You,  Will Be Much

Farther. I Rather Think I Shall Go For A Fortnight To Bath. You Have

Heard Of Gen. Scott'S Death. George'S Motto For His Achievement Is

--Sic Dice Placuit; And For His Sarcophagus--Dice Manibus,  &C. . . .

 

(135) The American Prohibitory Bill,  To Prevent Trade And

Intercourse Between The American Colonies And Great Britain And The

West Indies.

 

 

 

 

 

(1775?) Dec. 19,  Tuesday.--I Write To You Before Dinner,  And Before

I Have All The Opportunities Which I Might Have Before Night Of

Sending You News,  For Fear That It Should Happen As It Did Last

Saturday,  That I Fall Asleep,  And So Let Pass The Hour Of The Post.

The Cold Drives Me To The Fire,  And The Fire Into A Profound Nap,  In

Which Every Earthly Thing Is Forgot; But It Shall Happen No More,

That A Post Goes Without Something To Indicate My Existence.

 

Last Night And The Night Before I Supped At Lady Betty Stanley'S.

Their Suppers Are Magnificent,  But Their Hours Are Abominably Late;

However,  They Do Not Discourage My Lord Of Worcester From Staying

Them Out. We Are Very Merry,  All Of Us,  And I Think Mrs. North The

Merriest Of Us All. At 2 This Morning,  The Bishop And I Were Almost

Left Alone; The Rest Of The Company Were In Their Domino'S,  And

Going To The Masquerade. I Have Seen Nobody To-Day To Tell Me What

Passed There.

 

I Have Been With Mie Mie At Gainsborough'S,(136) To Finish Her

Picture. I Thank You For Inquiring After Her; It Has Been One Of My

Comforts That She Has Escaped Any Of These Colds. She Seems To Grow

Very Strong; So Far,  So Good.

 

Sir G(Eorge) M'Cartney And Lady Holl(An)D Dined Here Yesterday,  And

We Had The Contrivance To Keep Our Party A Secret From Craufurd,

For,  Although He Was Engaged To Two Other Places,  He Told March That

He Should Have Been Glad To Have Come,  And Certainly Would,  If He

Had Known It. I Think Verily He Grows More Tiresome Every Day,  And

Everybody'S Patience Is A Bout,  Except Smith'S And Sir George'S.

 

Sir G(Eorge) Has Been Telling Me To-Day,  That Lord Stormont Is

Coming From France,  And Is To Have Lord Marchmont'S Place,  Who Is

Satisfied By The Peerage Of His Son,  And That Lord Harcourt Will

Stay But A Very Little While Longer In Ireland. This Must Produce In

All Probability Other Removes.

 

I Dine To-Morrow With Lord Gower,  Lady G(Ower),  Lord And Lady

Waldegrave,  L'Ambassadeur,  And Monsr. Tessier,  At Bedford House. I

Shall Know,  Perhaps,  Something More Of This Then. Her Grace Has

Suppers For The Class I Dine With To-Day,  But I Am Not Of Them.

Chapter 21 Pg 161

Monsieur Tessier Is To Read To The Queen,  And Till Then,  Will Read

No More; He Goes Down To Pass His Xmas At Wilton. I Wish,  For Lady

Carlisle'S Entertainment,  That You Had Him For Two Or Three Days,  At

Castle H.

 

I Should,  With Your Approbation,  Have Been Glad To Have Carried Him

With Me. I Shall Be Glad To Bring Anybody,  But I Have No Prospect,

But Of John St. John. Storer Tells Me That He Goes To The Bath. Eden

Would Be Excessively Happy To Go,  If It Was For A Few Days Only,  But

His Attendance At This Time Seems Scarcely To Be Dispensed With. Our

Last News From America Are Certainly Not Good,  But It Does Not Alter

My Expectations Of What Will Be The Issue Of The Next Campaign. It

Is A Great Cause Of Amusement To Charles,  But I See No Good To Him

Likely To Come From It In The End.

 

I Wish To Know,  If I Could,  Precisely Your Time Of Leaving Castle

H(Oward). I Should Be Glad To Contrive It,  So As To Return With You.

You Will Be Here For The Trial,(137) I Take For Granted. It Will Be

Alto "So

Damned Sweet."

 

"It'S Damned Good To See You," He Replied Gruffly. "Come On While I

Check This Bag. I'Ve Only Got A Little Over Two Hours,  Cynthia; I'Ve

Got To Get The Five-Ten Back. My Folks Will Be In Haydensville To-Morrow

Morning,  And I'Ve Got To Get Back To Meet Them."

 

Her Face Clouded For An Instant,  But She Tucked Her Arm Gaily In His And

Marched With Him Across The Rotunda To The Checking Counter. When Hugh

Had Disposed Of His Bag,  He Suggested That They Go To A Little Tea Room

On Fifty-Seventh Street. She Agreed Without Argument. Once They Were In

A Taxi,  She Wanted To Snuggle Down Into His Arm,  But She Restrained

Herself; She Felt That She Had To Play Fair.

 

Hugh Said Nothing. He Was Trying To Think,  And His Thoughts Whirled

Around In a Mad,  Drunken Dance. He Believed That He Would Be Married

Before He Took The Train Back,  At Least Engaged,  And What Would All That

Mean? Did He Want To Get Married? God! He Didn'T Know.

 

When At Last They Were Settled In a Corner Of The Empty Tea-Room And Had

Given Their Order,  They Talked In an Embarrassed Fashion About Their

Recent Letters,  Both Of Them Carefully Quiet And Restrained. Finally

Hugh Shoved His Plate And Cup Aside And Looked Straight At Her For The

First Time. She Was Thin,  Much Thinner Than She Had Been A Year Ago,  But

There Was Something Sweeter About Her,  Too; She Seemed So Quiet,  So

Gentle.

 

"We Aren'T Going To Get Anywhere This Way,  Cynthia," He Said

Desperately. "We'Re Both Evading. I Haven'T Any Sense Left,  But What I

Say From Now On I Am Going To Say Straight Out. I Swore On The Train

That I Wouldn'T Kiss You. I Knew That I Wouldn'T Be Able To Think If I

Did--And I Can'T; All I Know Is That I Want To Kiss You Again." He

Looked At Her Sitting Across The Little Table From Him,  So Slender And

Still--A Different Cynthia But Damnably Desirable. "Cynthia," He Added

Hoarsely,  "If You Took My Hand,  You Could Lead Me To Hell."

 

She In Turn Looked At Him. He Was Much Older Than He Had Been A Year

Chapter 21 Pg 162

Before. Then He Had Been A Boy; Now He Seemed A Man. He Had Not Changed

Particularly; He Was As Blond And Young And Clean As Ever,  But There Was

Something About His Mouth And Eyes,  Something More Serious And More

Stern,  That Made Him Seem Years Older.

 

"I Don'T Want To Lead You To Hell,  Honey," She Replied Softly. "I Left

Prom Last Year So That I Wouldn'T Do That. I Told You Then That I Wasn'T

Good For You--But I'M Different Now."

 

"I Can See That. I Don'T Know What It Is,  But You'Re Different,  Awfully

Different." He Leaned Forward Suddenly. "Cynthia,  Shall We Go Over To

Jersey And Get Married? I Understand That One Can There Right Away.

We'Re Both Of Age--"

 

"Wait,  Hugh; Wait." Cynthia'S Hands Were Tightly Clasped In Her Lap.

"Are You Sure That You Want To? I'Ve Been Thinking A Lot Since I Got

Your Telegram. Are You Sure You Love Me?"

 

He Slumped Back Into His Chair. "I Don'T Know What Love Is," He

Confessed Miserably. "I Can'T Find Out." Cynthia'S Hands Tightened In

Her Lap. "I'Ve Tried To Think This Business Out,  And I Can'T. I Haven'T

Any Right To Ask You To Marry Me. I Haven'T Any Money,  Not A Bit,  And

I'M Not Prepared To Do Anything,  Either. As I Wrote You,  My Folks Want

Me To Go To Harvard Next Year." The Mention Of His Poverty And Of His

Inability To Support A Wife Brought Him Back To Something Approaching

Normal Again. "I Suppose I'M Just A Kid,  Cynthia," He Added More

Quietly,  "But Sometimes I Feel A Thousand Years Old. I Do Right Now."

 

"What Were Your Plans For Next Year And After That Until You Saw Me?"

Her Eyes Searched His.

 

"Oh,  I Thought I'D Go To Harvard A Year Or Two And Then Try To Write Or

Perhaps Teach. Writing Is Slow Business,  I Understand,  And Teaching

Doesn'T Pay Anything. I Don'T Want To Ask My Father To Support Us,  And I

Won'T Let Your Folks. I Lost My Head When I Suggested That We Get

Married. It Would Be Foolish. I Haven'T The Right."

 

"No," She Agreed Slowly; "No,  Neither Of Us Has The Right. I Thought

Before You Came If You Asked Me To Marry You--I Was Sure Someor Conquering America,  Without Foreign Troops,  It Is Entirely

Impossible; And I Think It Pretty Near A Certainty That The Rebels

Will Be In Possession Of All America By The Spring. By The News Of

Fort St. John'S And Chambley,  And The Investiture Of Quebec,  Their

Diligence And Activity Is Wonderful,  And It Must End In The

Possession Of All N(Orth) Am(Erica). They Have Taken A Store-Ship,

And Have Several Ships At Sea. De Peu A Peu Nous Arrivons; If They

Go On So Another Year--Fuit Ilium Et Ingens Gloria--We Shall Make

But A Paltry Figure In The Eye Of Europe. Come To Town,  And Be

Witness To The Fall,  Or The Re-Establishment,  Of Our Puissant

Empire. . . .

 

 

 

 

Little Of Selwyn'S Correspondence In 1776 And 1777 Has Been

Preserved. Possibly He Wrote Less,  And Made A Long Stay At Castle

Howard. "I Have More Bon Jours And Bon Soirs For Her En Poche,"

Referring To His Little Child-Friend,  Caroline Howard,  "Than I Shall

Chapter 21 Pg 163

Be Able To Give Her During The Whole Time I Shall Stay At Castle H."

For The Despatch Of Political News He Trusted,  As He Often Did,  To

Storer. "I Hope That Storer Gives You A More Particular Account Of

What Is Said In The House Than I Can Do. What Is He Employing

Himself About? Why Won'T He Attempt To Say Something? What

Signifies,  Knowing What Cicero Said And How He Said It,  If A Man

Cannot Open His Mouth To Deliver One Sentence Of His Own?" But

Storer,  Like Many Able And Cultivated Men,  Was More Critical Of His

Own Powers Than Those Who Want Both Talent And Knowledge. He Was

Not,  However,  Altogether Neglectful Of Selwyn'S Wishes,  And He

Presently Sent Carlisle Some Political News,  But Of No Great

Interest.

 

Selwyn Himself Was In Somewhat Low Spirits,  He Was As We Know

Troubled By Mie Mie'S Parents,  And He Longed For The Society Of

Carlisle And His Family.

 

 

 

 

(1777,  Feb.) Tuesday Night.--. . . As To My Own Situation I Cannot

Say It Is A Happy (One),  Although I Have So Much More Than I Could

Have Expected. I Have,  Indeed,  For The Present All I Ever Wished,

But I Have Also The Strongest Assurances Given Me That At All Events

Things Shall Continue For Some Time In The State In Which They Now

Are. But Whoever Upon That Concludes That I Must Be Easy Is Either

Ignorant Or Indifferent To The Feelings Of Mankind. The Bare

Possibility Of Be[Ing] Rendered So Unhappy As I Should Be Made Upon

A Change Of Their Resolution,  Or From The Operations Of Caprice And

Travers,  I Say The Mere Apprehensions Of That,  Even Slightly

Founded,  Prevent My Mind From Being In That Equilibre Which Is

Absolutely Necessary To My Tranquillity. We Are,  I Say,  At Present

Going On Very Well,  In as Good And Regular A Progress Of Education

As It Is Possible; Both Mie Mie And I As Tractable As It Is

Possible; Et Troubler Ce Menage Seroit Une Cruaute Sans Example.

 

I Have Also To Grieve At Other Times For A Great Deprivation Of Part

Of My Happiness; That,  I Mean,  To Which You Contributed,  Lady

C(Arlisle) And Your Children. There Is A Hiatus Valde Deflendus;

Indeed,  A Lacune Which I Do Not Know How To Fill Up,  And I Sigh Over

The Prospect Of It Perpetually,  And Without Seeing My Way Out Of It.

 

I Have,  At Another Part Of My Day,  A Scene,  Which Time Or Use Cannot

Reconcile To Me. I See My Mother'S Strength Grow Less Every Day,

Without Any Consolation,  But That Her Mind Does Not Decay With It.

In Short,  My Dear Lord,  As I Have Often Told You,  J'Ai L'Esprit Et

Le Coeur Trop Fracasses For Me To Be Happy At Present,  And All I Can

Say Is That I Might,  By Untoward Accidents,  Be More Miserable,  And

These Are Removed From My View Pour Le Moment; But I Wait For A

Period Of Time When I Shall Be Relieved From Uncertainty Of What May

Happen,  And When I May Live And Breathe Without Restraint And

Apprehension. That Period Will,  As I Imagine,  Arrive In about Two

Months,  And Till Then Les Assurances Les Plus Fortes Sont Trop

Faibles Pour Mon Repos.

 

It Is Some Time Since I Have Had A Long Letter From You. I Hope To

Have One Of Some Sort Or Other To-Morrow. I Hope All Goes Quietly,

At Least Gregt Thought And Then Said

Chapter 21 Pg 164

Softly,  His Eyes On The Table,  "I'M Glad That You Feel That Way,

Cynthia." She Bit Her Lip And Trembled Slightly. "I'Ll Confess Now That

I Don'T Think That I Love You,  Either. You Sweep Me Clean Off My Feet

When I'M With You,  But When I'M Away From You I Don'T Feel That Way. I

Think Love Must Be Something More Than We Feel For Each Other." He

Looked Up And Smiled Boyishly. "We'Ll Go On Being Friends Anyhow,  Won'T

We?"

 

Somehow She Managed To Smile Back At Him. "Of Course," She Whispered,

And Then After A Brief Pause Added: "We Had Better Go Now. Your Train

Will Be Leaving Pretty Soon."

 

Hugh Pulled Out His Watch. "By Jingo,  So It Will."

 

He Called The Waiter,  Paid His Bill,  And A Few Minutes Later They Turned

Into Fifth Avenue. They Had Gone About A Block Down The Avenue When Hugh

Saw Some One A Few Feet Ahead Of Him Who Looked Familiar. Could It Be

Carl Peters? By The Lord Harry,  It Was!

 

"Excuse Me A Minute,  Cynthia,  Please. There'S A Fellow I Know."

 

He Rushed Forward And Caught Carl By The Arm. Carl Cried,  "Hugh,  By

God!" And Shook Hands With Him Violently. "Hell,  Hugh,  I'M Glad To See

You."

 

Hugh Turned To Cynthia,  Who Was A Pace Behind Them. He Introduced Carl

And Cynthia To Each Other And Then Asked Carl Why In The Devil He

Hadn'T Written.

 

Carl Switched His Leg With His Cane And Grinned. "You Know Darn Well,

Hugh,  That I Don'T Write Letters,  But I Did Mean To Write To You; I

Meant To Often. I'Ve Been Traveling. My Mother And I Have Just Got Back

From A Trip Around The World. Where Are You Going Now?"

 

"Oh,  Golly," Hugh Exclaimed,  "I'Ve Got To Hurry If I'M Going To Make

That Train. Come On,  Carl,  With Us To Grand Central. I'Ve Got To Get The

Five-Ten Back To Haydensville. My Folks Are Coming Up To-Morrow For

Commencement." Instantly He Hated Himself. Why Did He Have To Mention

Commencement? He Might Have Remembered That It Should Have Been Carl'S

Commencement,  Too.

 

Carl,  However,  Did Not Seem In The Least Disturbed,  And He Cheerfully

Accompanied Hugh And Cynthia To The Station. He Looked At Cynthia And

Had An Idea.

 

"Have You Checked Your Bag?"

 

"Yes," Hugh Replied.

 

"Well,  Give Me The Check And I'Ll Get It For You. I'Ll Meet You At The

Gate."

 

Hugh Surrendered The Check And Then Proceeded To The Gate With Cynthia.

He Turned To Her And Asked Gently,  "May I Kiss You,  Cynthia?"

 

For An Instant She Looked Down And Said Nothing; Then She Turned Her

Chapter 21 Pg 165

Face Up To His. He Kissed Her Tenderly,  Wondering Why He Felt No

Passion,  Afraid That He Would.

 

"Good-By,  Cynthia Dear," He Whispered.

 

Her Hands Fluttered Helplessly About His Coat Lapels And Then Fell To

Her Side. She Managed A Brave Little Smile. "Good-By--Honey."

 

Carl Rushed Up With The Bag. "Gosh,  Hugh,  You'Ve Got To Hurry; They'Re

Closing The Gate." He Gripped His Hand For A Second. "Visit Me At Bar

Harbor This Summer If You Can."

 

"Sure. Good-By,  Old Man. Good-By Cynthia."

 

"Good-By--Good-By."

 

Hugh Slipped Through The Gate And,  Turned To Wave At Carl And Cynthia.

They Waved Back,  And Then He Ran For The Train.

 

On The Long Trip To Haydensville Hugh Relaxed. Now That The Strain Was

Over,  He Felt Suddenly Weak,  But It Was Sweet Weakness. He Could

Graduate In Peace Now. The Visit To New York Had Been Worth While. And

What Do You Know,  Bumping Into Old Carl Like That I Cynthia And He Were

Friends,  Too,  The Best Friends In The World,  But She No Longer Wanted To

Marry Him. That Was Fine.... He Remembered The Picture She And Carl Had

Made Standing On The Other Side Of The Gate From Him. "What A Peach Of A

Pair. Golly,  Wouldn'T It Be Funny If They Hit It Off...."

 

He Thought Over Every Word That He And Cynthia Had Said. She Certainly

Had Been Square All Right. Not Many Like Her,  But "By Heaven,  I Knew

Down In My Heart All The Time That I Didn'T Want To Get Married Or Even

Engaged. It Would Have Played Hell With Everything."

 

Chapter 22 Pg 166

 

The Next Morning Hugh'S Mother And Father Arrived In The Automobile. He

Was To Drive Them Back To Merrytown The Day After Commencement. At Last

He Stood In The Doorway Of The Nu Delta House And Welcomed His Father,

But He Had Forgotten All About That Youthful Dream. He Was Merely Aware

That He Was Enormously Glad To See The "Folks" And That His Father

Seemed To Be Withering Into An Old Man.

 

As The Under-Classmen Departed,  The Alumni Began To Arrive. The "Five

Year" Classes Dressed In extraordinary Outfits--Indians,  Turks,  And Men

In Prison Garb Roamed The Campus. There Were Youngsters Just A Year Out

Of College,  Still Looking Like Undergraduates,  Still Full Of College

Talk. The Alumni Ranged All The Way From These One-Year Men To The

Fifty-Year Men,  Twelve Old Men Who Had Come Back To Sanford Fifty Years

After Their Graduation,  And Two Of Them Had Come All The Way Across The

Chapter 22 Pg 167

Continent. There Had Been Only Fifty Men Originally In That Class; And

Twelve Of Them Were Back.

 

What Brought Them Back? Hugh Wondered. He Thought He Knew,  But He

Couldn'T Have Given A Reason. He Watched Those Old Men Wandering Slowly

Around The Campus,  One Of Them With His Grandson Who Was Graduating This

Year,  And He Was Awed By Their Age And Their Devotion To Their Alma

Mater. Yes,  Henley Had Been Right. Sanford Was Far From Perfect,  Far

From It--A Child Could See That--But There Was Something In The College

That Gripped One'S Heart. What Faults That Old College Had; But How One

Loved Her!

 

Thousands Of Japanese Lanterns Had Been Strung Around The Campus; An

Electric Fountain Sparkled And Splashed Its Many-Colored Waters; A Band

Seemed To Be Playing Every Hour Of The Day And Night From The Band-Stand

In Front Of The Union. It Was A Gay Scene,  And Everybody Seemed Superbly

Happy Except,  Possibly,  The Seniors. They Pretended To Be Happy,  But All

Of Them Were A Little Sad,  A Little Frightened. College Had Been Very

Beautiful--And The "World Outside," What Was It? What Did It Have In

Store For Them?

 

There Were Mothers And Fathers There To See Their Sons Receive Their

Degrees,  There Were The Wives And Children Of The Alumni,  There Were

Sisters And Fiancees Of The Seniors. Nearly Two Thousand People; And At

Least Half Of The Alumni Drunk Most Of The Time. Very Drunk,  Many Of

Them,  And Very Foolish,  But Nobody Minded. Somehow Every One Seemed To

Realize That In a Few Brief Days They Were Trying To Recapture A

Youthful Thrill That Had Gone Forever. Some Of The Drunken Ones Seemed

Very Silly,  Some Of Them Seemed Almost Offensive; All Of Them Were

Pathetic.

 

They Had Come Back To Sanford Where They Had Once Been So Young And

Exuberant,  So Tireless In Pleasure,  So In Love With Living; And They

Were Trying To Pour All That Youthful Zest Into Themselves Again Out Of

A Bottle Bought From A Bootlegger. Were They Having A Good Time? Who

Knows? Probably Not. A Bald-Headed Man Does Not Particularly Enjoy

Looking At A Picture Taken In His Hirsute Youth; And Yet There Is A

Certain Whimsical Pleasure In The Memories The Picture Brings.

 

For Three Days There Was Much Gaiety,  Much Singing Of Class Songs,

Constant Parading,  Dances,  Speech-Making,  Class Circuses,  And Endless

Shaking Of Hands And Exchanging Of Reminiscences. The Seniors Moved

Through All The Excitement Quietly,  Keeping Close To Their Relatives And

Friends. Graduation Wasn'T So Thrilling As They Had Expected It To Be;

It Was More Sad. The Alumni Seemed To Be Having A Good Time; They Were

Ridiculously Boyish: Only The Seniors Were Grave,  Strangely And

Unnaturally Dignified.

 

Most Of The Alumni Left The Night Before The Graduation Exercises. The

Parents And Fiancees Remained. They Stood In The Middle Of The Campus

And Watched The Seniors,  Clad In caps And Gowns,  Line Up Before The

Union At The Orders Of The Class Marshal.

 

Finally,  The Procession,  The Grand Marshal,  A Professor,  In The Lead

With A Wand In His Hand,  Then President Culver And The Governor Of The

State,  Then The Men Who Were To Receive Honorary Degrees--A Writer,  A

College President,  A Philanthropist,  A Professor,  And Three

Chapter 22 Pg 168

Politicians--Then The Faculty In academic Robes,  Their Many-Colored

Hoods Brilliant Against Their Black Gowns. And Last The Seniors,  A Long

Line Of Them Marching In Twos Headed By Their Marshal.

 

The Visitors Streamed After Them Into The Chapel. The Seniors Sat In

Their Customary Seats,  The Faculty And The Men Who Were To Receive

Honorary Degrees On A Platform That Had Been Built At The Altar. After

They Were Seated,  Everything Became A Blur To Hugh. He Hardly Knew What

Was Happening. He Saw His Father And Mother Sitting In The Transept. He

Thought His Mother Was Crying. He Hoped Not.... Some One Prayed

Stupidly. There Was A Hymn.... What Was It Cynthia Had Said? Oh,  Yes: "I

Can'T Marry A Stranger." Well,  They Weren'T Exactly Strangers.... He Was

Darn Glad He Had Gone To New York.... The President Seemed To Be Saying

Over And Over Again,  "By The Power Invested In Me ..." And Every Time

That He Said It,  Professor Blake Would Slip The Loop Of A Colored Hood

Over The Head Of A Writer Or A Politician--And Then It Was Happening All

Over Again.

 

Suddenly The Class Marshal Motioned To The Seniors To Rise. They Put On

Their Mortar-Boards. The President Said Once More,  "By The Power

Invested In Me...." The Seniors Filed By The President,  And The Grand

Marshal Handed Each Of Them A Roll Of Parchment Tied With Blue And

Orange Ribbons. Hugh Felt A Strange Thrill As He Took His. He Was

Graduated; He Was A Bachelor Of Science.... Back Again To Their Seats.

Some One Was Pronouncing Benediction.... Music From The Organ--Marching

Out Of The Chapel,  The Surge Of Friends--His Father Shaking His Hand,

His Mother'S Arms Around His Neck; She _Was_ Crying....

 

Graduation Was Over,  And,  With It Hugh'S College Days. Many Of The

Seniors Left At Once. Hugh Would Have Liked To Go,  Too,  But His Father

Wanted To Stay One More Day In Haydensville. Besides,  There Was A Final

Senior Dance That Night,  And He Thought That Hugh Ought To Attend It.

 

Hugh Did Go To The Dance,  But Somehow It Brought Him No Pleasure.

Although It Was Immensely Decorous,  It Reminded Him Of Cynthia. He

Thought Of Her Tenderly. The Best Little Girl He'D Ever Met.... He

Danced On,  Religiously Steering Around The Sisters And Fiancees Of His

Friends,  But He Could Not Enjoy The Dance. Shortly After Eleven He

Slipped Out Of The Gymnasium And Made One Last Tour Of The Campus.

 

It Was A Moonlight Night,  And The Campus Was Mysterious With Shadows.

The Elms Shook Their Leaves Whisperingly; The Tower Of The Chapel Looked

Like Magic Tracery In The Moonlight. He Paused Before Surrey Hall,  Now

Dark And Empty. Good Old Carl.... Carl And Cynthia? He Wondered....

Pudge Had Roomed There,  Too. He Passed On. Keller Hall,  Cynthia And

Norry.... "God,  What A Beast I Was That Night. How White Norry Was--And

Cynthia,  Too," Cynthia Again. She'D Always Be A Part Of Sanford To Him.

On Down To The Lake To Watch The Silver Path Of The Moonlight And The

Heavy Reflections Near The Shore. Swimming,  Canoeing,  Skating--He And

Cynthia In The Woods Beyond.... On Back To The Campus,  Around The

Buildings,  Every One Of Them Filled With Memories. Four Years--Four

Beautiful,  Wonderful Years.... Good Old Sanford....

 

Midnight Struck. Some One Turned A Switch Somewhere. The Japanese

Lanterns Suddenly Lost Their Colors And Faded To Gray Balloons In The

Moonlight. Some Men Were Singing On The Union Steps. It Was A Few

Seniors,  Hugh Knew; They Had Been Singing For An Hour.

 

Chapter 22 Pg 169

He Stood In The Center Of The Campus And Listened,  His Eyes Full Of

Tears. Earnestly,  Religiously,  The Men Sang,  Their Voices Rich With

Emotion:

 

 

 

 

                "Sanford,  Sanford,  Mother Of Men,

                 Love Us,  Guard Us,  Hold Us True.

                 Let Thy Arms Enfold Us;

                 Let Thy Truth Uphold Us.

                 Queen Of Colleges,  Mother Of Men--

                 Alma Mater--Sanford--Hail!

                 Alma-Mater--Hail!--Hail!"

 

 

 

 

Hugh Walked Slowly Across The Campus Toward The Nu Delta House. He Was

Both Happy And Sad--Happy Because The Great Adventure Was Before Him

With All Its Mystery,  Sad Because He Was Leaving Something Beautiful

Behind....

 

 

 

 

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.05.2014

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