The Plastic Age - Percy Marks (trending books to read txt) 📗

The Other Day And An A On Another. What Are You

Always Pulling That Low-Brow Stuff For?"

 

Larry Had The Grace To Blush. "Aw," He Explained In Some Confusion,  "My

Prof's Full Of Hooey. He Doesn't Know A C Theme From An A One. He Makes

Me Sick. He--"

 

"Aw,  Shut Up!" Freddy Dickson Shouted. "Let's Get Going; Let's Get

Going. We Gotta Learn This Poetry. Damn! I Don't Know Anything About It.

I Didn't Crack The Book Till Two Days Ago."

 

Pudge Took Charge Again. "Close Your Gabs,  Everybody," He Commanded

Sternly. "There's No Sense In Going Over The Prose Lit. You Can Do That

Better By Yourselves. God Knows I'm Not Going To Waste My Time Telling

You Bone-Heads What Carlyle Means By A Hero. If You Don't Know Odin From

Mohammed By This Time,  You Can Roast In Dante's Hell For All Of Me. Now

Listen; The Prof Said That They Were Going To Make Us Place Lines,  And,

Of Course,  They'll Expect Us To Know What The Poems Are About. Hell!

How Some Of The Boys Are Going To Fox 'Em." He Paused To Laugh. "Jim

Hicks Told Me This Afternoon That 'Philomela' Was By Shakspere." The

Other Boys Did Not Understand The Joke,  But They All Laughed Heartily.

 

"Now," He Went On,  "I'll Give You The Name Of A Poem,  And Then You Tell

Me What It's About And Who Wrote It."

 

He Leafed Rapidly Through An Anthology. "Carl,  Who Wrote 'Kubla Khan'?"

 

Carl Puffed His Pipe Meditatively. "I'm Going To Fox You,  Pudge," He

Said,  Frankly Triumphant; "I Know. Coleridge Wrote It. It Seems To Be

About A Jew Who Built A Swell Joint For A Wild Woman Or Something Like

That. I Can't Make Much Out Of The Damn Thing."

 

"That's Enough. Smack For Carl," Said Pudge Approvingly. "Smack" Meant

That The Answer Was Satisfactory. "Freddy,  Who Wrote 'La Belle Dame Sans

Merci'?"

 

Freddy Twisted In His Chair,  Thumped His Head With His Knuckles,  And

Finally Announced With A Groan Of Despair,  "No Soap."

 

"Hugh?"

 

"No Soap."

 

"Larry?"

 

"Well," Drawled Larry,  "I Think Jawn Keats Wrote It. It's One Of Those

Bedtime Stories With A Kick. A Knight Gets Picked Up By A Jane. He Puts

Her On His Prancing Steed And Beats It For The Tall Timber. Keats Isn't

Very Plain About What Happened There,  But I Suspect The Worst. Anyhow,

The Knight Woke Up The Next Morning With An Awful Rotten Taste In His

Mouth."

 

"Smack For Larry. Your Turn,  Carl. Who Wrote 'The West Wind'?"

 

"You Can't Get Me On That Boy Masefield,  Pudge. I Know All His Stuff.

There Isn't Any Story; It's Just About The West Wind,  But It's A Goddamn

Good Poem. It's The Cat's Pajamas."

 

"You Said It,  Carl," Hugh Chimed In,  "But I Like 'Sea Fever' Better.

 

 

 

 

                "I Must Go Down To The Seas Again,

                 To The Lonely Sea And The Sky....

 

 

 

 

Gosh! That's Hot Stuff. 'August,  1914''s A Peach,  Too."

 

"Yeah," Agreed Larry Languidly; "I Got A Great Kick When The Prof Read

That In Class. Masefield's All Right. I Wish We Had More Of His Stuff

And Less Of Milton. Lord Almighty,  How I Hate Milton! What Th' Hell Do

They Have To Give Us That Tripe For?"

 

"Oh,  Let's Get Going," Freddy Pleaded,  Running A Nervous Hand Through

His Mouse-Colored Hair. "Shoot A Question,  Pudge."

 

"All Right,  Freddy." Pudge Tried To Smile Wickedly But Succeeded Only In

Looking Like A Beaming Cherub. "Tell Us Who Wrote The 'Ode On

Intimations Of Immortality From Recollections Of Early Childhood.'

Cripes! What A Title!"

 

Freddy Groaned. "I Know That Wadsworth Wrote It,  But That Is All That I

Do Know About It."

 

"Wordsworth,  Freddy," Carl Corrected Him. "Wordsworth. Henry W.

Wordsworth."

 

"Gee,  Carl,  Thanks. I Thought It Was William."

 

There Was A Burst Of Laughter,  And Then Pudge Explained. "It Is William,

Freddy. Don't Let Peters Razz You. Just For That,  Carl,  You Tell What

It's About."

 

"No Soap," Said Carl Decisively.

 

"I Know," Hugh Announced,  Excited And Pleased.

 

"Shoot!"

 

"Well,  It's This Reincarnation Business. Wordsworth Thought You Lived

Before You Came On To This Earth,  And Everything Was Fine When You Were

A Baby But It Got Worse When You Got Older. That's About All. It's Kinda

Bugs,  But I Like Some Of It."

 

"It Isn't Bugs," Pudge Contradicted Flatly; "It's Got Sense. You Do Lose

Something As You Grow Older,  But You Gain Something,  Too. Wordsworth

Admits That. It's A Wonderful Poem,  And You're Dumbbells If You Can't

See It." He Was Very Serious As He Turned The Pages Of The Book And Laid

His Pipe On The Table At His Elbow. "Now Listen. This Stanza Has The

Dope For The Whole Poem." He Read The Famous Stanza Simply And

Effectively:

 

 

 

 

                "Our Birth Is But A Sleep And A Forgetting;

                 The Soul That Rises With Us,  Our Life's Star,

                   Hath Had Elsewhere Its Setting

                     And Cometh From Afar;

                     Not In Entire Forgetfulness,

                     And Not In Utter Nakedness,

                 But Trailing Clouds Of Glory Do We Come

                         From God Who Is Our Home:

                 Heaven Lies About Us In Our Infancy!

                 Shades Of The Prison House Begin To Close

                         Upon The Growing Boy,

                 But He Beholds The Light,  And Whence It Flows,

                         He Sees It In His Joy;

                 The Youth Who Daily Farther From The East

                   Must Travel,  Still Is Nature's Priest,

                      And By The Vision Splendid

                      Is On His Way Attended;

                 At Length The Man Perceives It Die Away,

                 And Fade Into The Light Of Common Day."

 

 

 

 

There Was A Moment's Silence When He Finished,  And Then Hugh Said

Reverently: "That Is Beautiful. Read The Last Stanza,  Will You,  Pudge?"

 

So Pudge Read The Last Stanza,  And Then The Boys Got Into An Argument

Over The Possible Truth Of The Thesis Of The Poem. Freddy Finally

Brought Them Back To The Task In Hand With His Plaintive Plea,  "We've

Gotta Get Going." It Was Two O'clock In The Morning When The Seminar

Broke Up,  Hugh Admitting To Carl After Their Visitors Departed That He

Had Not Only Learned A Lot But That He Had Enjoyed The Evening Heartily.

 

The College Grew Quieter And Quieter As The Day For The Examinations

Approached. There Were Seminars On Everything,  Even On The Best Way To

Prepare Cribs. Certain Students With Low Grades And Less Honor Would

Somehow Gravitate Together And Discuss Plans For "Foxing The Profs."

Opinions Differed. One Man Usually Insisted That Notes In The Palm Of

The Left Hand Were Safe From Detection,  Only To Be Met By The Objection

That They Had To Be Written In Ink,  And If One's Hand Perspired,  "And It

Was Sure As Hell To," Nothing Was Left But An Inky Smear. Another Held

That A Fellow Could Fasten A Rubber Band On His Forearm And Attach The

Notes To Those,  Pulling Them Down When Needed And Then Letting Them Snap

Back Out Of Sight Into Safety. "But," One Of The Conspirators Was Sure

To Object,  "What Th' Hell Are You Going To Do If The Band Breaks?" Some

Of Them Insisted That Notes Placed In The Inside Of One's Goloshes--All

The Students Wore Them But Took Them Off In The Examination-Room--Could

Be Easily Read. "Yeah,  But The Proctors Are Wise To That Stunt." And So

_Ad Infinitum_. Eventually All The "Stunts" Were Used And Many More. Not

That All The Students Cheated. Everything Considered,  The Percentage Of

Cheaters Was Not Great,  But Those Who Did Cheat Usually Spent Enough

Time Evolving Ingenious Methods Of Preparing Cribs And In Preparing Them

To Have Learned Their Lessons Honestly And Well.

 

The Night Before The First Examinations The Campus Was Utterly Quiet.

Suddenly Bedlam Broke Loose. Somehow Every Dormitory That Contained

Freshmen Became A Madhouse At The Same Time. Hugh And Carl Were In

Surrey 19 Earnestly Studying. Freddy Dickson Flung The Door Open And

Shouted Hysterically,  "The General Science Exam's Out!"

 

Hugh And Carl Whirled Around In Their Desk-Chairs.

 

"What?" They Shouted Together.

 

"Yeah! One Of The Fellows Saw It. A Girl That Works At The Press Copied

Down The Exam And Gave It To Him."

 

"What Fellow? Where's The Exam?"

 

"I Don't Know Who The Guy Is,  But Hubert Manning Saw The Exam."

 

Hugh And Carl Were Out Of Their Chairs In An Instant,  And The Three Boys

Rushed Out Of Surrey In Search Of Manning. They Found Him In His Room

Telling A Mob Of Excited Classmates That He Hadn't Seen The Exam But

That Harry Smithson Had. Away Went The Crowd In Search Of Smithson,  Carl

And Hugh And Freddy In The Midst Of The Excited,  Chattering Lads.

Smithson Hadn't Seen The Exam,  But He Had Heard That Puddy Mccumber Had

A Copy.... Freshmen Were Running Up And Down Stairs In The Dormitories,

Shouting,  "Have You Seen The Exam?" No,  Nobody Had Seen The Exam,  But

Some Of The Boys Had Been Told Definitely What The Questions Were Going

To Be. No Two Seemed To Agree On The Questions,  But Everybody Copied

Them Down And Then Rushed On To Search For A _Bona Fide_ Copy. They

Hurried From Dormitory To Dormitory,  Constantly Shouting The Same

Question,  "Have You Seen The Exam?" There Were Men In Every Dormitory

With A New List Of Questions,  Which Were Hastily Scratched Into

Note-Books By The Eager Seekers. Until Midnight The Excitement Raged;

Then The Campus Quieted Down As The Freshmen Began To Study The Long

Lists Of Questions.

 

"God!" Said Carl As He Scanned His List Hopelessly,  "These Damn

Questions Cover Everything In The Course And Some Things That I Know

Damn Well Weren't In It. What A Lot Of Nuts We Were. Let's Go To Bed."

 

"Carl," Hugh Wailed Despondently,  "I'm Going To Flunk That Exam. I Can't

Answer A Tenth Of These Questions. I Can't Go To Bed; I've Got To Study.

Oh,  Lord!"

 

"Don't Be A Triple-Plated Jackass. Come On To Bed. You'll Just Get Woozy

If You Stay Up Any Longer."

 

"All Right," Hugh Agreed Wearily. He Went To Bed,  But Many Of The Boys

Stayed Up And Studied,  Some Of Them All Night.

 

The Examinations Were Held In The Gymnasium. Hundreds Of Class-Room

Chairs Were Set In Even Rows. Nothing Else Was There,  Not Even The

Gymnasium Apparatus. A Few Years Earlier A Wily Student Had Sneaked Into

The Gymnasium The Night Before An Examination And Written His Notes On A

Dumbbell Hanging On The Wall. The Next Day He Calmly Chose The Seat In

Front Of The Dumbbell--And Proceeded To Write A Perfect Examination. The

Annotated Dumbbell Was Found Later,  And After That The Walls Were

Stripped Clean Of Apparatus Before The Examinations Began.

 

At A Few Minutes Before Nine The Entire Freshman Class Was Grouped

Before The Doors Of The Gymnasium,  Nervously Talking,  Some Of Them

Glancing Through Their Notes,  Others Smoking--Some Of Them So Rapidly

That The Cigarettes Seemed To Melt,  Others Walking Up And Down,

Muttering And Mumbling; All Of Them So Excited,  So Tense That They

Hardly Knew What They Were Doing. Hugh Was Trying To Think Of A Dozen

Answers To Questions That Popped Into His Head,  And He Couldn't Think Of

Anything.

 

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 Snatched 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