The Plastic Age Part 27

"I'm parched." He rolled over. "Ouch! G.o.d, how my head aches!"

Norry brought him the drink, but nothing less than three gla.s.ses even began to satisfy Hugh. Then, still saying nothing, Norry put a cold compress on Hugh's hot forehead.

"Thanks, Norry old man. That's awfully d.a.m.n good of you."

Norry walked out of the room, and Hugh quickly fell into a light sleep.

An hour later he woke up, quite unaware of the fact that Norry had changed the cold compress three times. The nap had refreshed him. He still felt weak and faint; but his head no longer throbbed, and his throat was less dry.

"Norry," he called feebly.

"Yes?" Norry stood in the doorway. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, some. Come sit down on the bed. I want to talk to you. But get me another drink first, please. My mouth tastes like burnt rubber."

Norry gave him the drink and then sat down on the edge of the bed, silently waiting.

"I'm awfully ashamed of myself, old man," Hugh began. "I--I don't know what to say. I can't remember much what happened. I remember bringing Cynthia up here and you coming in and then--well, I somehow can't remember anything after that. What did you do?"

"I took Cynthia home and then came back and put you to bed." Norry gazed at the floor and spoke softly.

"You took Cynthia home?"

"Of course."

Hugh stared at him in awe. "But if you'd been seen with her in the dorm, you'd have been fired from college."

"n.o.body saw us. It's all right."

Hugh wanted to cry. "Oh, Lord, Norry, you're white," he exclaimed. "The whitest fellow that ever lived. You took that chance for me."

"That's all right." Norry was painfully embarra.s.sed.

"And I'm such a rotter. You--you know what we came up here for?"

"I can guess." Norry's glance still rested on the floor. He spoke hardly above a whisper.

"Nothing happened. I swear it, Norry. I meant to--but--but you came--thank G.o.d! I was awfully soused. I guess you think I'm rotten, Norry. I suppose I am. I don't know how I could treat you this way. Are you awfully angry?"

"I was last night," Norry replied honestly, "but I'm not this morning.

I'm just terribly disappointed. I understand, I guess; I'm human, too--but I'm disappointed. I can't forget the way you looked."

"Don't!" Hugh cried. "Please don't, Norry. I--I can't stand it if you talk that way. I'm so d.a.m.ned ashamed. Please forgive me."

Norry was very near to tears. "Of course, I forgive you," he whispered, "but I hope you won't do it again."

"I won't, Norry. I promise you. Oh, G.o.d, I'm no good. That's twice I've been stopped by an accident. I'll go straight now, though; I promise you."

Norry stood up. "It's nearly noon," he said more naturally. "Cynthia will be wondering where you are."

"Cynthia! Oh, Norry, how can I face her?"

"You've got to," said the young moralist firmly.

"I suppose so," the sinner agreed, his voice miserably lugubrious.

"G.o.d!"

After three cups of coffee, however, the task did not seem so impossible. Hugh entered the Nu Delta house with a fairly jaunty air and greeted the men and women easily enough. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Cynthia standing in the far corner of the living-room. She was wearing her scarlet hat and blue suit.

She saved him the embarra.s.sment of opening the conversation. "Come into the library," she said softly. "I want to speak to you."

Wondering and rather frightened, he followed her.

"I'm going home this afternoon," she began. "I've got everything packed, and I've told everybody that I don't feel very well."

"You aren't sick?" he asked, really worried.

"Of course not, but I had to say something. The train leaves in an hour or two, and I want to have a talk with you before I go."

"But hang it, Cynthia, think of what you're missing. There's a baseball game with Raleigh this afternoon, a tea-dance in the Union after that, the Musical Clubs concert this evening--I sing with the Glee club and Norry's going to play a solo, and I'm in the Banjo Club, too--and we are going to have a farewell dance at the house after the concert." Hugh pleaded earnestly; but somehow down in his heart he wished that she wouldn't stay.

"I know, but I've got to go. Let's go somewhere out in the woods where we can talk without being disturbed."

Still protesting, he led her out of the house, across the campus, past the lake, and into the woods. Finally they sat down on a smooth rock.

"I'm awfully sorry to bust up your party, Hugh," Cynthia began slowly, "but I've been doing some thinking, and I've just got to beat it." She paused a moment and then looked him square in the eyes. "Do you love me?"

For an instant Hugh's eyes dropped, and then he looked up and lied like a gentleman. "Yes," he said simply; "I love you, Cynthia."

She smiled almost wearily and shook her head. "You _are_ a good egg, Hugh. It was white of you to say that, but I know that you don't love me. You did yesterday, but you don't now. Do you realize that you haven't asked to kiss me to-day?"

Hugh flushed and stammered: "I--I've got an awful hang-over, Cynthia. I feel rotten."

"Yes, I know, but that isn't why you didn't want to kiss me. I know all about it. Listen, Hugh." She faced him bravely. "I've been running with a fast crowd for three years, and I've learned a lot about fellows; and most of 'em that I've known weren't your kind. How old are you?"

"Twenty-one in a couple of months."

"I'm twenty and lots wiser about some things than you are. I've been crazy about you--I guess I am kinda yet--and I know that you thought you were in love with me. I wanted you to have hold of me all the time.

That's all that mattered. It was--was your body, Hugh. You're sweet and fine, and I respect you, but I'm not the kid for you to run around with.

I'm too fast. I woke up early this morning, and I've done a lot of thinking since. You know what we came near doing last night? Well, that's all we want each other for. We're not in love."

A phrase from the bull sessions rushed into Hugh's mind. "You mean--s.e.x attraction?" he asked in some embarra.s.sment. He felt weak and tired. He seemed to be listening to Cynthia in a dream. Nothing was real--and everything was a little sad.

"Yes, that's it--and, oh, Hugh, somehow I don't want that with you.

We're not the same kind at all. I used to think that when I got your letters. Sometimes I hardly understood them, but I'd close my eyes and see you so strong and blond and clean, and I'd imagine you were holding me tight--and--and then I was happy. I guess I did kinda love you, but we've spoiled it." She wanted desperately to cry but bit her lip and held back her tears.

"I think I know what you mean, Cynthia," Hugh said softly. "I don't know much about love and s.e.x attraction and that sort of thing, but I know that I was happier kissing you than I've ever been in my life. I--I wish that last night hadn't happened. I hate myself."

"You needn't. It was more my fault than yours. I'm a pretty bad egg, I guess; and the booze and you holding me was too much. I hate myself, too. I've spoiled the nicest thing that ever happened to me." She looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears. "I _did_ love you, Hugh. I loved you as much as I could love any one."