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

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

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

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

       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