The Plastic Age, Percy Marks [top 10 books of all time TXT] 📗

Going To Get 'Em For It."

 

Three Weeks Later He Made Good This Threat. He Was A Clever Boxer,  And

He Succeeded In Separating Each Of The Malefactors From The Fighting

Mob. He Would Have Been Completely Nonplussed If He Could Have Heard

Adams And Dodge Talking In Their Room After The Rush.

 

"Who Gave You The Black Eye?" Adams Asked Dodge.

 

"That Freshman Carver," He Replied,  Touching The Eye Gingerly. "Who Gave

You That Welt On The Chin?"

 

"Carver! And,  Say,  He Beat Hi Cooper To A Pulp. He's A Mess."

 

They Looked At Each Other And Burst Out Laughing.

 

"Lord," Said Dodge,  "I'm Going To Pick My Freshmen Next Time. Who'd Take

A Kid With A Smile Like His To Be A Scrapper? He's Got The Nicest Smile

In College. Why,  He Looks Meek As A Lamb."

 

"You Never Can Tell," Remarked Adams,  Rubbing His Chin Ruefully.

 

Dodge Was Examining His Eye In The Mirror. "No,  You Never Can Tell....

Damn It,  I'm Going To Have To Get A Beefsteak Or Something For This Lamp

Of Mine."

 

"Say,  He Ought To Be A Good Man For The Fraternity," Adams Said

Suddenly.

 

"Who?" Dodge's Eye Was Absorbing His Entire Attention.

 

"Carver,  Of Course. He Ought To Make A Damn Good Man."

 

"Yeah--You Bet. We've Got To Rush Him Sure."

 

 

Chapter 8

 

The Dormitory Initiations Had More Than Angered Hugh; They Had

Completely Upset His Mental Equilibrium: His Every Ideal Of College

Swayed And Wabbled. He Wasn't A Prig,  But He Had Come To Sanford With

Very Definite Ideas About The Place,  And Those Ideas Were Already Groggy

From The Unmerciful Pounding They Were Receiving.

 

His Father Was Responsible For His Illusions,  If One May Call Them

Illusions. Mr. Carver Was A Shy,  Sensitive Man Well Along 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.

 

"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

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 9

 

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.

 

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