The Plastic Age by Percy Marks (e book reader pc .TXT) 📕

that they were almost hysterical. And when they left Surrey 19 arm in arm on their way to the Nu Delta house “to see the brothers,” their cup of bliss was full to the brim and running over.

“Criminy, the ol’ campus sure does look good,” said Hugh ecstatically. “Watch the frosh work.” He was suddenly reminded of something. “Hey, freshman!” he yelled at a big, red-faced youngster who was to be fullback on the football team a year hence.

The freshman came on a run. “Yes⁠—yes, sir?”

“Here’s a check. Take it down to the station and get my suitcase. Take it up to Surrey Nineteen and put it in the room. The door’s open. Hurry up now; I’m going to want it pretty soon.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll hurry.” And the freshman was off running.

Hugh and Carl grinned at each other, linked arms again, and continued their way across the campus. When they entered the Nu Delta house a shout went up. “Hi, Carl! Hi, Hugh! Glad to see you back. Didya have a good summer? Put it there, ol’ kid”⁠—and they shook hands, gripping each other’s forearm at the same time.

Hugh tried hard to become a typical sophomore and failed rather badly. He retained much of the shyness and diffidence that gives the freshman his charm, and he did not succeed very well in acquiring the swagger, the cocky, patronizing manner, the raucous self-assurance that characterize the true sophomore.

He found, too, that he couldn’t lord it over the freshmen very well, and at times he was nothing less than a renegade to his class. He was constantly giving freshmen correct information about their problems, and during the dormitory initiations he more than once publicly objected to some “stunt” that seemed to him needlessly insulting to the initiates. Because he was an athlete, his opinion was respected, and quite unintentionally he won several good friends among the freshmen. His objections had all been spontaneous, and he was rather sorry about them afterward. He felt that he must be soft, that he ought to be able to stand anything that anybody else could. Further, he felt that there must be something wrong with his sense of humor; things that struck lots of his classmates as funny seemed merely disgusting to him.

He wanted very much to tell Carl about Janet, but for several weeks the opportunity did not present itself. There was too much excitement about the campus; the mood of the place was all wrong, and Hugh, although he didn’t know it, was very sensitive to moods and atmosphere.

Finally one night in October he and Carl were seated in their big chairs before the fire. They had been walking that afternoon, and Hugh had been swept outside of himself by the brilliance of the autumn foliage. He was emotionally and physically tired, feeling that vague, melancholy happiness that comes after an intense but pleasant experience. Carl leaned back to the center-table and switched off the study light.

“Pleasanter with just the firelight,” he said quietly. He, too, had something that he wanted to tell, and the less light the better.

Hugh sighed and relaxed comfortably into his chair. The shadows were thick and mysterious behind them; the flames leaped merrily in the fireplace. Both boys sat silent, staring into the fire.

Finally Hugh spoke.

“I met a girt this summer, Carl,” he said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Little peach. Awf’lly pretty. Dainty, you know. Awf’lly dainty⁠—like a little kid. You know.”

Carl had slumped down into his chair. He was smoking his pipe and staring pensively at the flames. “Un-huh. Go on.”

“Well, I fell pretty hard. She was so⁠—er, dainty. She always reminded me of a little girl playing lady. She had golden hair and blue eyes, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen; oh, lots bluer than mine, lots bluer. And little bits of hands and feet.”

Carl continued to puff his pipe and stare at the fire. “Pet?” he asked dreamily.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, she petted⁠—but she was kinda funny⁠—cold, you know, and kinda scared. Gee, Carl, I was crazy about her. I⁠—I even wrote her a poem. I guess it wasn’t very good, but I don’t think she knew what it was about. I guess I’m off her now, though. She’s too cold. I don’t want a girl to fall over me⁠—my last girl did that⁠—but, golly, Carl, Janet didn’t understand. I don’t think she knows anything about love.”

“Some of ’em don’t,” Carl remarked philosophically, slipping deeper into his chair. “They just pet.”

“That’s the way she was. She liked me to hold her and kiss her just as long as I acted like a big brother, but, criminy, when I felt that soft little thing in my arms, I didn’t feel like a big brother; I loved her like hell.⁠ ⁠… She was awfully sweet,” he added regretfully; “I wish she wasn’t so cold.”

“Hard luck, old man,” said Carl consolingly, “hard luck. Guess you picked an iceberg.”

For a few minutes the room was quiet except for the crackling of the fire, which was beginning to burn low. The shadows were creeping up on the boys; the flames were less merry.

Carl took his pipe out of his mouth and drawled softly, “I had better luck.”

Hugh pricked up his ears. “You haven’t really fallen in love, have you?” he demanded eagerly. Carl had often said that he would never fall in love, that he was “too wise” to women.

“No, I didn’t fall in love; nothing like that. I met a bunch of janes down at Bar Harbor. Some of them I’d known before, but I met some new ones, too. Had a damn good time. Some of those janes certainly could neck, and they were ready for it any time. Gee, if the old lady hadn’t been there, I’d a been potted about half the time. As it was, I drank enough gin and Scotch to float a battleship. Well, the old lady had to go to New York on account of some business; so I went down to Christmas Cove to visit some people I