The Plastic Age by Percy Marks (best mobile ebook reader .txt) 📖
- Author: Percy Marks
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To You."
"To Me? Why?"
Carl Pointed To His Suit-Case Standing By The Center-Table.
"That'S Why."
"Going Away On A Party?"
"My Trunk Left An Hour Ago. I'M Going Away For Good." Carl'S Voice Was
Husky, And He Spoke With An Obvious Effort.
Hugh Walked Quickly To The Desk. "Why, Old Man, What'S The Matter?
Anything Wrong With Your Mother? You'Re Not Sick, Are You?"
Carl Laughed, Briefly, Bitterly. "Yes, I'M Sick All Right. I'M Sick."
Hugh, Worried, Looked At Him Seriously. "Why, What'S The Matter? I
Didn'T Know That You Weren'T Feeling Well."
Carl Looked At The Rug And Muttered, "You Remember Those Rats We Picked
Up In Hastings?"
"Yes?"
"Well, I Know Of Seven Fellows They'Ve Sent Home."
Chapter 12 Pg 92
"What!" Hugh Cried, His Eyes Wide With Horror. "You Don'T Mean That
You--That You--"
"I Mean Exactly That," Carl Replied In a Low, Flat Voice. He Rose And
Moved To The Other Side Of The Room. "I Mean Exactly That; And Doc
Conners Agrees With Me," He Added Sarcastically. Then More Softly, "He'S
Got To Tell The Dean. That'S Why I'M Going Home."
Hugh Was Swept Simultaneously By Revulsion And Sympathy. "God, I'M
Sorry," He Exclaimed. "Oh, Carl, I'M So Damn Sorry."
Carl Was Standing By Hugh'S Desk, His Hands Clenched, His Lips
Compressed. "Keep My Junk," He Said Unevenly, "And Sell Anything You
Want To If You Live In The House Next Year."
"But You'Ll Be Back?"
"No, I Won'T Come Back--I Won'T Come Back." He Was Having A Hard Time
To Keep Back The Tears And Bit His Trembling Lip Mercilessly. "Oh,
Hugh," He Suddenly Cried, "What Will My Mother Say?"
Hugh Was Deeply Distressed, But He Was Startled By That "My Mother." It
Was The First Time He Had Ever Heard Carl Speak Of His Mother Except As
The "Old Lady."
"She Will Understand," He Said Soothingly.
"How Can She? How Can She? God, Hugh, God!" He Buried His Face In His
Hands And Wept Bitterly. Hugh Put His Arm Around His Shoulder And Tried
To Comfort Him, And In a Few Minutes Carl Was In control Of Himself
Again. He Dried His Eyes With His Handkerchief.
"What A Fish I Am!" He Said, Trying To Grin. "A Goddamn Fish." He Looked
At His Watch. "Hell, I'Ve Got To Be Going If I'M Going To Make The Five
Fifteen," He Picked Up His Suit-Case And Held Out His Free Hand.
"There'S Something I Want To Say To You, Hugh, But I Guess I'Ll Write
It. Please Don'T Come To The Train With Me." He Gripped Hugh'S Hand Hard
For An Instant And Then Was Out Of The Door And Down The Hall Before
Hugh Had Time To Say Anything.
Two Days Afterward The Letter Came. The Customary "Dear Brother" And
"Fraternally Yours" Were Omitted.
Dear Hugh:
I'Ve Thought Of Letters Yards Long But I'M Not Going To
Write Them. I Just Want To Say That You Are The Finest
Thing That Ever Happened To Me Outside Of My Mother, And
I Respect You More Than Any Fellow I'Ve Ever Known. I'M
Ashamed Because I Started You Drinking And I Hope You'Ll
Stop It. I Feel Toward You The Way Harry Slade Does,
Only More I Guess. You'Ve Done An Awful Lot For Me.
I Want To Ask A Favor Of You. Please Leave Women Alone.
Keep Straight, Please. You Don'T Know How Much I Want
Chapter 12 Pg 93You To Do That.
Thanks For All You'Ve Done For Me.
Carl.
Hugh'S Eyes Filled With Tears When He Read That Letter. Carl Seemed A
Tragic Figure To Him, And He Missed Him Dreadfully. Poor Old Carl! What
Hell It Must Have Been To Tell His Mother! "And He Wants Me To Keep
Straight. By God, I Will.... I'Ll Try To, Anyhow."
Chapter 13 Pg 94
Henley Picked Up Three Themes. Then He Turned His Keen Eyes On Hugh.
"I'Ve Already Read These. Lazy Cuss, Aren'T You?" He Asked Amiably.
Hugh Flushed. "I--I Suppose So."
"You Know That You Are; No Supposing To It." He Slapped The Desk Lightly
With The Themes. "First Drafts, Aren'T They?"
"Yes, Sir." Hugh Felt His Cheeks Getting Warmer.
Henley Smiled. "Thanks For Not Lying. If You Had Lied, This Conference
Would Have Ended Right Now. Oh, I Wouldn'T Have Told You That I Thought
You Were Lying; I Would Simply Have Made A Few Polite But Entirely
Insincere Comments About Your Work And Let You Go. Now I Am Going To
Talk To You Frankly And Honestly."
"I Wish You Would," Hugh Murmured, But He Wasn'T At All Sure That He
Wished Anything Of The Sort.
Henley Knocked The Ashes Out Of His Pipe Into A Metal Tray, Refilled It,
Lighted It, And Then Puffed Meditatively, Gazing At Hugh With Kind But
Speculative Eyes.
"I Think You Have Ability," He Began Slowly. "You Evidently Write With
Great Fluency And Considerable Accuracy, And I Can Find Poetic Touches
Here And There That Please Me. But You Are Careless, Abominably
Careless, Lazy. Whatever Virtues There Are In Your Themes Come From A
Natural Gift, Not From Any Effort You Made To Say The Thing In The Best
Way. Now, I'M Not Going To Spend Anytime Discussing These Themes In
Detail; They Aren'T Worth It."
He Pointed His Pipe At Hugh. "The Point Is Exactly This," He Said
Sternly. "I'Ll Never Spend Any Time Discussing Your Themes So Long As
You Turn In Hasty, Shoddy Work. I Can See Right Now That You Can Get A C
In This Course Without Trying. If That'S All You Want, All Right, I'Ll
Give It To You--And Let It Go At That. The Lord Knows That I Have Enough
To Do Without Wasting Time On Lazy Youngsters Who Haven'T Sense Enough
To Develop Their Gifts. If You Continue To Turn In Themes Like These,
I'Ll Give You C'S Or D'S On Them And Let You Dig Your Own Shallow Grave
By Yourself. But If You Want To Try To Write As Well As You Can, I'Ll
Give You All The Help In My Power. Not One Minute Can You Have So Long
As You Don'T Try, But You Can Have Hours If You Do Try. Furthermore, You
Will Find Writing A Pleasure If You Write As Well As You Can, But You
Won'T Get Any Sport Just Scribbling Off Themes Because You Have To."
He Paused To Toss The Three Themes Across The Desk To Hugh, Who Was
Watching Him With Astonishment. No Instructor Had Ever Talked To Him
That Way Before.
"You Can Rewrite These Themes If You Want To," Henley Went On. "I
Haven'T Graded Them, And I'Ll Reserve The Grades For The Rewritten
Themes; And If I Find That You Have Made A Real Effort, I'Ll Discuss
Them In detail With You. What Do You Say?"
"I'D Like To Rewrite Them," Hugh Said Softly. "I Know They Are Rotten."
"No, They Aren'T Rotten. I'Ve Got Dozens That Are Worse. That Isn'T The
Chapter 13 Pg 95Point. They Aren'T Nearly So Good As You Can Make Them, And Only Your
Best Work Is Acceptable To Me. Now Show Me What You Can Do With Them,
And Then We'Ll Tear Them To Shreds In Regular Fashion." He Turned To His
Desk And Smiled At Hugh, Who, Understanding That The Conference Was
Over, Stood Up And Reached For The Themes. "I'Ll Be Interested In
Seeing What You Can Do With Those," Henley Concluded. "Every One Of Them
Has A Good Idea. Go To It--And Get Them Back In a Week."
"Yes, Sir. Thanks Very Much."
"Right-O. Good-By."
"Good-By, Sir," And Hugh Left The Office Determined To Rewrite Those
Themes So That "They'D Knock Jimmie Henley'S Eye Out." They Didn'T Do
Exactly That, But They Did Interest Him, And He Spent An Hour And A Half
Discussing Them With Hugh.
That Was Merely The First Of A Series Of Long Conferences. Sometimes
Henley And Hugh Discussed Writing, But Often They Talked About Other
Subjects, Not As Instructor And Student But As Two Men Who Respected
Each Other'S Mind. Before The Term Was Out Henley Had Invited Hugh To
His Home For Dinner And To Meet Mrs. Henley. Hugh Was Enormously
Flattered And, For Some Reason, Stimulated To Do Better Work. He Found
His Talks With Henley Really Exciting, And He Expressed His Opinions To
Him As Freely And Almost As Positively As He Did To His Classmates. He
Told His Friends That Jimmie Henley Was Human, Not Like Most Profs. And
He Worked At His Writing As He Had Never Worked At Anything, Running
Excepted, Since He Had Been In college.
The Students Never Knew What To Expect From Henley In The Class-Room.
Sometimes He Read Themes And Criticized Them; Sometimes He Discussed
Books That He Had Been Reading; Sometimes He Read Poetry, Not Because
Contemporary Poetry Was Part Of The Course But Because He Happened To
Feel Like Reading It That Morning; Sometimes He Discoursed On The Art Of
Writing; And Sometimes He Talked About Anything That Happened To Be
Occupying His Mind. He Made His Class-Room An Open Forum, And The
Students Felt Free To Interrupt Him At Any Time And To Disagree With
Him. Usually They Did Disagree With Him And Afterward Wrote Violent
Themes To Prove That He Was Wrong. That Was Exactly What Henley Wanted
Them To Do, And The More He Could Stir Them Up The Better Satisfied He
Was.
One Morning, However, He Talked Without Interruption. He Didn'T Want To
Be Interrupted, And The Boys Were So Taken Back By His Statements That
They Could Find No Words To Say Anything.
The Bell Rang. Henley Called The Roll, Stuck His Class-Book Into His
Coat Pocket, Placed His Watch On The Desk; Then
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