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

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!"

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;

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

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.

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.

"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,