The Plastic Age Part 11

Suddenly the doors were thrown open. Yelling, shoving each other about, fairly dancing in their eagerness and excitement, the freshmen rushed into the gymnasium. Hugh broke from the mob as quickly as possible, hurried to a chair, and s.n.a.t.c.hed up a copy of the examination that was lying on its broad arm. At the first glance he thought that he could answer all the questions; a second glance revealed four that meant nothing to him. For a moment he was dizzy with hope and despair, and then, all at once, he felt quite calm. He pulled off his goloshes and prepared to go to work.

Within three minutes the noise had subsided. There was a rustling as the boys took off their baa-baa coats and goloshes, but after that there was no sound save the slow steps of the proctors pacing up and down the aisle. Once Hugh looked up, thinking desperately, almost seizing an idea that floated nebulous and necessary before him. A proctor that he knew caught his eye and smiled fatuously. Hugh did not smile back. He could have cried in his fury. The idea was gone forever.

Some of the students began to write immediately; some of them leaned back and stared at the ceiling; some of them chewed their pencils nervously; some of them leaned forward mercilessly pounding a knee; some of them kept running one or both hands through their hair; some of them wrote a little and then paused to gaze blankly before them or to tap their teeth with a pen or pencil: all of them were concentrating with an intensity that made the silence electric.

That proctor's idiotic smile had thrown Hugh's thoughts into what seemed hopeless confusion, but a small incident almost immediately brought order and relief. The gymnasium cat was wandering around the rear of the gymnasium. It attracted the attention of several of the students--and of a proctor. Being very careful not to make any noise, he picked up the cat and started for the door. Almost instantly every student looked up; and then the stamping began. Four hundred freshmen stamped in rhythm to the proctor's steps. He Hushed violently, tried vainly to look unconcerned, and finally disappeared through the door with the cat. Hugh had stamped l.u.s.tily and laughed in great glee at the proctor's confusion; then he returned to his work, completely at ease, his nervousness gone.

One hour pa.s.sed, two hours. Still the freshmen wrote; still the proctors paced up and down. Suddenly a proctor paused, stared intently at a youth who was leaning forward in his chair, walked quickly to him, and picked up one of his goloshes. The next instant he had a piece of paper in his hand and was, walking down the gymnasium after beckoning to the boy to follow him. The boy shoved his feet into his goloshes, pulled on his baa-baa coat, and, his face white and strained, marched down the aisle.

The proctor spoke a few words to him at the door. He nodded, opened the door, left the gymnasium--and five hours later the college.

Thus the college for ten days: the better students moderately calm, the others cramming information into aching heads, drinking unbelievable quant.i.ties of coffee, sitting up, many of them, all night, attending seminars or tutoring sessions, working for long hours in the library, finally taking the examination, only to start a new nerve-racking grind in preparation for the next one.

If a student failed in a course, he received a "flunk notice" from the registrar's office within four days after the examination, so that four days after the last examination every student knew whether he had pa.s.sed his courses or not. All those who failed to pa.s.s three courses were, as the students put it, "flunked out," or as the registrar put it, "their connection with the college was severed." Some of the flunkees took the news very casually, packed their trunks, sold their furniture, and departed; others frankly wept or hastened to their instructors to plead vainly that their grades be raised: all of them were required to leave Haydensville at once.

Hugh pa.s.sed all of his courses but without distinction. His B in trigonometry did not give him great satisfaction inasmuch as he had received an A in exactly the same course in high school; nor was he particularly proud of his B in English, since he knew that with a little effort he could have "pulled" an A. The remainder of his grades were C's and D's, mostly D's. He felt almost as much ashamed as Freddy d.i.c.kson, who somehow hadn't "got going" and had been flunked out. Carl received nothing less than a C, and his record made Hugh more ashamed of his own. Carl never seemed to study, but he hadn't disgraced himself.

Hugh spent many bitter hours thinking about his record. What would his folks think? Worse, what would they _say?_ Finally he wrote to them:

Dear Mother and Dad:

I have just found out my grades. I think that they will be sent to you later. Well, I didn't flunk out but my record isn't so hot. Only two of my grades are any good.

I got a B in English and Math but the others are all C's and D's. I know that you will be ashamed of me and I'm awfully sorry. I've thought of lots of excuses to write to you, but I guess I won't write them. I know that I didn't study hard enough. I had too much fun.

I promise you that I'll do better next time. I know that I can. Please don't scold me.

Lots of love, HUGH

All that his mother wrote in reply was, "Of course, you will do better next time." The kindness hurt dreadfully. Hugh wished that she had scolded him.

CHAPTER XII

The college granted a vacation of three days between terms, but Hugh did not go home, nor did many of the other undergraduates. There was excitement in the air; the college was beginning to stew and boil again.

Fraternity rus.h.i.+ng was scheduled for the second week of the new term.

The administration strictly prohibited the rus.h.i.+ng of freshmen the first term; and, in general, the fraternities respected the rule. True, the fraternity men were constantly visiting eligible freshmen, chatting with them, discussing everything with them except fraternities. That subject was barred.

Hugh and Carl received a great many calls from upper-cla.s.smen the first term, and Hugh had been astonished at Carl's reticence and silence.

Carl, the flippant, the voluble, the "wise-cracker," lost his tongue the minute a man wearing a fraternity pin entered the room. Hugh was forced to entertain the all-important guest. Carl never explained how much he wanted to make a good fraternity, not any fraternity, only a _good_ one; nor did he explain that his secret studying the first term had been inspired by his eagerness to be completely eligible. A good fraternity would put the seal of aristocracy on him; it would mean everything to the "old lady."

For the first three nights of the rus.h.i.+ng season the fraternities held open house for all freshmen, but during the last three nights no freshman was supposed to enter a fraternity house unless Invited.

The first three nights found the freshmen traveling in scared groups from fraternity house to fraternity house, sticking close together unless rather vigorously pried apart by their hosts. Everybody was introduced to everybody else; everybody tried rather hopelessly to make conversation, and nearly everybody smoked too much, partly because they were nervous and partly because the "smokes" were free.

It was the last three nights that counted. Both Hugh and Carl received invitations from most of the fraternities, and they stuck together, religiously visiting them all. Hugh hoped that they would "make" the same fraternity and that that fraternity would be Nu Delta. They were together so consistently during the rus.h.i.+ng period that the story went around the campus that Carver and Peters were "going the same way," and that Carver had said that he wouldn't accept a bid from any fraternity unless it asked Peters, too.

Hugh heard the story and couldn't understand it. Everybody seemed to take it for granted that he would be bid. Why didn't they take it equally for granted that Carl would be bid as well? He thought perhaps it was because he was an athlete and Carl wasn't; but the truth was, of course, that the upper-cla.s.smen perceived the _nouveau riche_ quality in Carl quite as clearly as he did himself. He knew that his money and the fact that he had gone to a fas.h.i.+onable prep school would bring him bids, but would they be from the right fraternities? That was the all-important question.

Those last three days of rus.h.i.+ng were nerve-racking. At night the invited freshmen--and that meant about two thirds of the cla.s.s--were at the fraternity houses until eleven; between cla.s.ses and during every free hour they were accosted by earnest fraternity men, each presenting the superior merits of his fraternity. The fraternity men were wearier than the freshmen. They sat up until the small hours every morning discussing the freshmen they had entertained the night before.

Hugh was in a daze. Over and over he heard the same words with only slight variations. A fraternity man would slap a fat book with an excited hand and exclaim: "This is 'Baird's Manual,' the final authority on fraternities, and it's got absolutely all the dope. You can see where we stand. Sixty chapters! You don't join just this one, y' understand; you join all of 'em. You're welcome wherever you go." Or, if the number of chapters happened to be small, "Baird's Manual" was referred to again. "Only fifteen chapters, you see. We don't take in new chapters every time they ask. We're darned careful to know what we're signing up before we take anybody in." The word "aristocratic" was carefully avoided, but it was just as carefully suggested.

It seemed to Hugh that he was shown a photograph of every fraternity house in the country. "Look," he would be told by his host, "look at that picture to the right of the fireplace. That's our house at Cornell.

Isn't it the darb? And look at that one. It's our house at California.

Some palace. They've got sunken gardens. I was out there last year to our convention. The boys certainly gave us a swell time."

All this through a haze of tobacco smoke and over the noise of a jazz orchestra and the chatter of a dozen similar conversations. Hugh was excited but not really interested. The Nu Deltas invited him to their house every evening, but they were not making a great fuss over him.

Perhaps they weren't going to give him a bid.... Well, he'd go some other fraternity. No, he wouldn't, either. Maybe the Nu Delta's would bid him later after he'd done something on the track.

Although actual pledging was not supposed to be done until Sat.u.r.day night, Hugh was receiving what amounted to bids all that day and the night before. Several times groups of fraternity men got into a room, closed the door, and then talked to him until he was almost literally dizzy. He was wise enough not to make any promises. His invariable answer was: "I don't know yet. I won't know until Sat.u.r.day night."

Carl was having similar experiences, but neither of them had been talked to by Nu Deltas. The president of the chapter, Merle Douglas, had said to Hugh in pa.s.sing, "We've got our eye on you, Carver," and that was all that had been said. Carl did not have even that much consolation. But he wasn't so much interested in Nu Delta as Hugh was; Kappa Zeta or Alpha Sigma would do as well. Both of these fraternities were making violent efforts to get Hugh, but they were paying only polite attention to Carl.

On Friday night Hugh was given some advice that he had good reason to remember in later years. At the moment it did not interest him a great deal.

He had gone to the Delta Sigma Delta house, not because he had the slightest interest in that fraternity but because the Nu Deltas had not urged him to remain with them. The Delta Sigma Deltas welcomed him enthusiastically and turned him over to their president, Malcolm Graham, a tall serious senior with sandy hair and quiet brown eyes.

"Will you come up-stairs with me, Carver? I want to have a talk with you," he said simply.

Hugh hesitated. He didn't mind being talked _to_, but he was heartily sick of being talked _at_.

Graham noticed his hesitation and smiled. "Don't worry; I'm not going to shanghai you, and I'm not going to jaw you to death, either."

Hugh smiled in response. "I'm glad of that," he said wearily. "I've been jawed until I don't know anything."

"I don't doubt it. Come on; let's get away from this racket." He took Hugh by the arm and led him up-stairs to his own room, which was pleasantly quiet and restful after the noise they had left.

When they were both seated in comfortable chairs, Graham began to talk.

"I know that you are being tremendously rushed, Carver, and I know that you are going to get a lot of bids, too. I've been watching you all through this week, and you seem dazed and confused to me, more confused even than the average freshman. I think I know the reason."

"What is it?" Hugh demanded eagerly.

"I understand that your father is a Nu Delt."

Hugh nodded.

"And you're afraid that they aren't going to bid you."

Hugh was startled. "How did you know?" He never thought of denying the statement.

"I guessed it. You were obviously worried; you visited other fraternities; and you didn't seem to enjoy the attention that you were getting. I'll tell you right now that you are worrying about nothing; the Nu Delts will bid you. They are just taking you for granted; that's all. You are a legacy, and you have accepted all their invitations to come around. If you had stayed away one night, there would have been a whole delegation rus.h.i.+ng around the campus to hunt you up."