The Plastic Age by Percy Marks (best fiction books to read TXT) 📕

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

  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

  _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

    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

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