The Plastic Age Percy Marks (read full novel txt) 📖

the more outlandish the better, and announce everyone who entered or left the house. “Mr. Standish entering,” he would bawl, or, “Mr. Kerwin leaving.” If he bawled too loudly, he was paddled; if he didn’t bawl loudly enough, he was paddled; and if there was no fault to be found with his bawling; he was paddled anyway. Every freshman had to supply his own paddle, a broad, stout oak affair sold at the cooperative store at a handsome profit.

If a freshman reported for duty one minute late, he was paddled; if he reported one minute early, he was paddled. There was no end to the paddling. “Assume the angle,” an upper-classman would roar. The unfortunate freshman then humbly bent forward, gripped his ankles with his hands⁠—and waited. The worst always happened. The upper-classman brought the paddle down with a resounding whack on the seat of the freshman’s trousers.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes, sir.”

Another resounding whack. “What?”

“No⁠—no, sir.”

“Oh, well, if it doesn’t hurt, I might as well give you another one.” And he gave him another one.

A freshman was paddled if he forgot to say “sir” to an upper-classman; he was paddled if he neglected to touch the floor with his fingers every time he passed through a door in the fraternity house; he was paddled if he laughed when an upper-classman told a joke, and he was paddled if he didn’t laugh; he was paddled if he failed to return from an errand in an inconceivably short time: he was paddled for every and no reason, but mainly because the upper-classmen, the sophomores particularly, got boundless delight out of doing the paddling.

Every night a freshman stood on the roof of the Nu Delta house and announced the time every fifteen seconds. “One minute and fifteen seconds after nine, and all’s well in the halls of Nu Delta; one minute and thirty seconds after nine, and all’s well in the halls of Nu Delta; one minute and forty-five seconds after nine, and all’s well in the halls of Nu Delta,” and so on for an hour. Then he was relieved by another freshman, who took up the chant.

Nightly the freshmen had to entertain the upper-classmen, and if the entertainment wasn’t satisfactory, as it never was, the entertainers were paddled. They had to run races, shoving pennies across the floor with their noses. The winner was paddled for going too fast⁠—“Didn’t he have any sense of sportsmanship?”⁠—and the loser was paddled for going too slow. Most of the freshmen lost skin off their noses and foreheads; all of them shivered at the sight of a paddle. By the end of the first week they were whispering to each other how many blisters they had on their buttocks.

It was a bitterly cold night in late February when the Nu Deltas took the freshmen for their “walk.” They drove in automobiles fifteen miles into the country and then left the freshmen to walk back. It was four o’clock in the morning when the miserable freshmen reached the campus, half frozen, unutterably weary, but thankful that the end of the initiation was at hand.

Hugh was thankful for another thing; the Nu Deltas did not brand. He had noticed several men in the swimming-pool with tiny Greek letters branded on their chests or thighs. The branded ones seemed proud of their permanent insignia, but the idea of a fraternity branding its members like beef-cattle was repugnant to Hugh. He told Carl that he was darn glad the Nu Deltas were above that sort of thing, and, surprisingly, Carl agreed with him.

The next night they were formally initiated. The Nu Delta house seemed strangely quiet; levity was strictly prohibited. The freshmen were given white robes such as the upper-classmen were wearing, the president excepted, who wore a really handsome robe of blue and silver.

Then they marched upstairs to the “goat room.” Once there, the president mounted a dais; a “brother” stood on each side of him. Hugh was so much impressed by the ritual, the black hangings of the room, the fraternity seal over the dais, the ornate chandelier, the long speeches of the president and his assistants, that he failed to notice that many of the brothers were openly bored.

Eventually each freshman was led forward by an upper-classman. He knelt on the lowest step of the dais and repeated after the president the oath of allegiance. Then one of the assisting brothers whispered to him the password and taught him the “grip,” a secret and elaborate method of shaking hands, while the other pinned the jeweled pin to his vest.

When each freshman had been received into the fraternity, the entire chapter marched in twos downstairs, singing the fraternity song. The initiation was over; Carl and Hugh were Nu Delts.

The whole ceremony had moved Hugh deeply, so deeply that he had hardly been able to repeat the oath after the president. He thought the ritual very beautiful, more beautiful even than the Easter service at church. He left the Nu Delta house that night feeling a deeper loyalty for the fraternity than he had words to express. He and Carl walked back to Surrey 19 in silence. Neither was capable of speech, though both of them wanted to give expression to their emotion in some way.

They reached their room.

“Well,” said Hugh shyly, “I guess I’ll go to bed.”

“Me, too.” Then Carl moved hesitatingly to where Hugh was standing. He held out his hand and grinned, but his eyes were serious.

“Good night⁠—brother.”

Their hands met in the sacred grip.

“Good night⁠—brother.”

XIII

To Hugh the remainder of the term was simply a fight to get an opportunity to study. The old saying, “if study interferes with college, cut out study,” did not appeal to him. He honestly wanted to do good work, but he found that the chance to do it was rare. Someone always seemed to be in his room eager to talk; there was the fraternity meeting to attend every Monday night; early in the term there was at