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

days Carl and Hugh did little but wait in line. They lined up to register; they lined up to pay tuition; they lined up to shake hands with President Culver; they lined up to talk for two quite useless minutes with the freshman dean; they lined up to be assigned seats in the commons. Carl suggested that he and Hugh line up in the study before going to bed so that they would keep in practice. Then they had to attend lectures given by various members of the faculty about college customs, college manners, college honor, college everything. After the sixth of them, Hugh, thoroughly weary and utterly confused, asked Carl if he now had any idea of what college was.

“Yes,” replied Carl; “it’s a young ladies’ school for very nice boys.”

“Well,” Hugh said desperately, “if I have to listen to about two more awfully noble lectures, I’m going to get drunk. I have a hunch that college isn’t anything like what these old birds say it is. I hope not, anyway.”

“Course it isn’t. Say, why wait for two more of the damn things to kill you off?” He pulled a flask out of his desk drawer and held it out invitingly.

Hugh laughed. “You told me yourself that that stuff was catgut and that you wouldn’t drink it on a bet. Besides, you know that I don’t drink. If I’m going to make my letter, I’ve got to keep in trim.”

“Right you are. Wish I knew what to do with this poison. If I leave it around here, the biddy’ll get hold of it, and then God help us. I’ll tell you what: after it gets dark tonight we’ll take it down and poison the waters of dear old Indian Lake.”

“All right. Say, I’ve got to pike along; I’ve got a date with my faculty adviser. Hope I don’t have to stand in line.”

He didn’t have to stand in line⁠—he was permitted to sit⁠—but he did have to wait an hour and a half. Finally a student came out of the inner office, and a gruff voice from within called, “Next!”

“Just like a barber shop,” flashed across Hugh’s mind as he entered the tiny office.

An old-young man was sitting behind a desk shuffling papers. He glanced up as Hugh came in and motioned him to a chair beside him. Hugh sat down and stared at his feet.

“Um, let’s see. Your name’s⁠—what?”

“Carver, sir. Hugh Carver.”

The adviser, Professor Kane, glanced at some notes. “Oh, yes, from Merrytown High School, fully accredited. Are you taking an A.B. or a B.S.?”

“I⁠—I don’t know.”

“You have to have one year of college Latin for a B.S. and at least two years of Greek besides for an A.B.”

“Oh!” Hugh was frightened and confused. He knew that his father was an A.B., but he had heard the high-school principal say that Greek was useless nowadays. Suddenly he remembered: the principal had advised him to take a B.S.; he had said that it was more practical.

“I guess I’d better take a B.S.,” he said softly. “Very well.” Professor Kane, who hadn’t yet looked at Hugh, picked up a schedule card. “Any middle name?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes, sir⁠—Meredith.”

Kane scribbled H. M. Carver at the top of the card and then proceeded to fill it in rapidly. He hastily explained the symbols that he was using, but he did not say anything about the courses. When he had completed the schedule, he copied it on another card, handed one to Hugh, and stuck the other into a filing-box.

“Anything else?” he asked, turning his blond, blank face toward Hugh for the first time.

Hugh stood up. There were a dozen questions that he wanted to ask. “No, sir,” he replied. “Very well, then. I am your regular adviser. You will come to me when you need assistance. Good day.”

“Good day, sir,” and as Hugh passed out of the door, the gruff voice bawled, “Next!” The boy nearest the door rose and entered the sanctum.

Hugh sought the open air and gazed at the hieroglyphics on the card. “Guess they mean something,” he mused, “but how am I going to find out?” A sudden fear made him blanch. “I bet I get into the wrong places. Oh, golly!”

Then came the upper-classmen, nearly seven hundred of them. The quiet campus became a bedlam of excitement and greetings. “Hi, Jack. Didya have a good summer?”⁠ ⁠… “Well, Tom, ol’ kid, I sure am glad to see you back.”⁠ ⁠… “Put her there, ol’ scout; it’s sure good to see you.” Everywhere the same greetings: “Didya have a good summer? Glad to see you back.” Everyone called everyone else by his first name; everyone shook hands with astonishing vigor, usually clutching the other fellow by the forearm at the same time. How cockily these lads went around the campus! No confusion or fear for them; they knew what to do.

For the first time Hugh felt a pang of homesickness; for the first time he realized that he wasn’t yet part of the college. He clung close to Carl and one or two other lads in Surrey with whom he picked up an acquaintance, and Carl clung close to Hugh, careful to hide the fact that he felt very small and meek. For the first time he realized that he was just a freshman⁠—and he didn’t like it.

Then suddenly the tension, which had been gathering for a day or so, broke. Orders went out from the upper-classmen that all freshmen put on their baby bonnets, silly little blue caps with a bright orange button. From that moment every freshman was doomed. Work was their lot, and plenty of it. “Hi, freshman, carry up my trunk. Yeah, you, freshman⁠—you with the skinny legs. You and your fat friend carry my trunk up to the fourth floor⁠—and if you drop it, I’ll break your fool necks.”⁠ ⁠… “Freshman! go down to the station and get my suitcases. Here are the checks. Hurry back if you