The Plastic Age, Percy Marks [the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt] 📗

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