The Plastic Age by Percy Marks (best mobile ebook reader .txt) 📖
- Author: Percy Marks
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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
Chapter 19 Pg 145Teaching 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
Chapter 19 Pg 146Called, 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
Chapter 19 Pg 147Love 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
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