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

me. Oh, oh, I wish I didn’t use a shafety-razor. I’ll tell you what to do, Norry.” He clung pleadingly to Norry’s arm and begged with passionate intensity. “You go over to Harry King’s room. He’s got a re-re⁠—a pistol. You get it for me and I’ll put it right here⁠—” he touched his temple awkwardly⁠—“and I’ll⁠—I’ll blow my damn brains out. I’m a blot, Norry; I’m an ex-cree-shence.”

Norry shook him. “Shut up. You’ve got to go to bed. You’re drunk.”

“I’m sick. I’m an ex-cree-shence.” The room was whizzing rapidly around Hugh, and he clung hysterically to Norry. Finally he permitted himself to be led into the bedroom and undressed, still moaning that he was an “ex-cree-shence.”

The bed pitched. He lay on his right side, clutching the covers in terror. He turned over on his back. Still the bed swung up and down sickeningly. Then he twisted over to his left side, and the bed suddenly swung into rest, almost stable. In a few minutes he was sound asleep.

He cut chapel and his two classes the next morning, one at nine and the other at ten o’clock; in fact, it was nearly eleven when he awoke. His head was splitting with pain, his tongue was furry, and his mouth tasted like bilge-water. He made wry faces, passed his thick tongue around his dry mouth⁠—oh, so damnably dry!⁠—and pressed the palms of his hands to his pounding temples. He craved a drink of cold water, but he was afraid to get out of bed. He felt pathetically weak and dizzy.

Norry walked into the room and stood quietly looking at him.

“Get me a drink, Norry, please,” Hugh begged.

“I’m parched.” He rolled over. “Ouch! God, how my head aches!”

Norry brought him the drink, but nothing less than three glasses even began to satisfy Hugh. Then, still saying nothing, Norry put a cold compress on Hugh’s hot forehead.

“Thanks, Norry old man. That’s awfully damn good of you.”

Norry walked out of the room, and Hugh quickly fell into a light sleep. An hour later he woke up, quite unaware of the fact that Norry had changed the cold compress three times. The nap had refreshed him. He still felt weak and faint; but his head no longer throbbed, and his throat was less dry.

“Norry,” he called feebly.

“Yes?” Norry stood in the doorway. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, some. Come sit down on the bed. I want to talk to you. But get me another drink first, please. My mouth tastes like burnt rubber.”

Norry gave him the drink and then sat down on the edge of the bed, silently waiting.

“I’m awfully ashamed of myself, old man,” Hugh began. “I⁠—I don’t know what to say. I can’t remember much what happened. I remember bringing Cynthia up here and you coming in and then⁠—well, I somehow can’t remember anything after that. What did you do?”

“I took Cynthia home and then came back and put you to bed.” Norry gazed at the floor and spoke softly.

“You took Cynthia home?”

“Of course.”

Hugh stared at him in awe. “But if you’d been seen with her in the dorm, you’d have been fired from college.”

“Nobody saw us. It’s all right.”

Hugh wanted to cry. “Oh, Lord, Norry, you’re white,” he exclaimed. “The whitest fellow that ever lived. You took that chance for me.”

“That’s all right.” Norry was painfully embarrassed.

“And I’m such a rotter. You⁠—you know what we came up here for?”

“I can guess.” Norry’s glance still rested on the floor. He spoke hardly above a whisper.

“Nothing happened. I swear it, Norry. I meant to⁠—but⁠—but you came⁠—thank God! I was awfully soused. I guess you think I’m rotten, Norry. I suppose I am. I don’t know how I could treat you this way. Are you awfully angry?”

“I was last night,” Norry replied honestly, “but I’m not this morning. I’m just terribly disappointed. I understand, I guess; I’m human, too⁠—but I’m disappointed. I can’t forget the way you looked.”

“Don’t!” Hugh cried. “Please don’t, Norry. I⁠—I can’t stand it if you talk that way. I’m so damned ashamed. Please forgive me.”

Norry was very near to tears. “Of course, I forgive you,” he whispered, “but I hope you won’t do it again.”

“I won’t, Norry. I promise you. Oh, God, I’m no good. That’s twice I’ve been stopped by an accident. I’ll go straight now, though; I promise you.”

Norry stood up. “It’s nearly noon,” he said more naturally. “Cynthia will be wondering where you are.”

“Cynthia! Oh, Norry, how can I face her?”

“You’ve got to,” said the young moralist firmly.

“I suppose so,” the sinner agreed, his voice miserably lugubrious. “God!”

After three cups of coffee, however, the task did not seem so impossible. Hugh entered the Nu Delta house with a fairly jaunty air and greeted the men and women easily enough. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Cynthia standing in the far corner of the living-room. She was wearing her scarlet hat and blue suit.

She saved him the embarrassment of opening the conversation. “Come into the library,” she said softly. “I want to speak to you.”

Wondering and rather frightened, he followed her.

“I’m going home this afternoon,” she began. “I’ve got everything packed, and I’ve told everybody that I don’t feel very well.”

“You aren’t sick?” he asked, really worried.

“Of course not, but I had to say something. The train leaves in an hour or two, and I want to have a talk with you before I go.”

“But hang it, Cynthia, think of what you’re missing. There’s a baseball game with Raleigh this afternoon, a tea-dance in the Union after that, the Musical Clubs concert this evening⁠—I sing with the Glee club and Norry’s going to play a solo, and I’m in the Banjo Club, too⁠—and we are going to have a farewell dance at the house after the concert.” Hugh pleaded earnestly; but somehow down in his heart he wished that she wouldn’t stay.

“I know, but I’ve got to go. Let’s go somewhere out in the woods where we can talk without being disturbed.”

Still protesting, he led her out of the house,