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

About Her. I--I Even Wrote Her A

Poem. I Guess It Wasn't Very Good,  But I Don't Think She Knew What It

Was About. I Guess I'm Off Her Now,  Though. She's Too Cold. I Don't Want

A Girl To Fall Over Me--My Last Girl Did That--But,  Golly,  Carl,  Janet

Didn't Understand. I Don't Think She Knows Anything About Love."

 

"Some Of 'Em Don't," Carl Remarked Philosophically,  Slipping Deeper Into

His Chair. "They Just Pet."

 

"That's The Way She Was. She Liked Me To Hold Her And Kiss Her Just As

Long As I Acted Like A Big Brother,  But,  Criminy,  When I Felt That Soft

Little Thing In My Arms,  I Didn't Feel Like A Big Brother; I Loved Her

Like Hell.... She Was Awfully Sweet," He Added Regretfully; "I Wish She

Wasn't So Cold."

 

"Hard Luck,  Old Man," Said Carl Consolingly,  "Hard Luck. Guess You

Picked An Iceberg."

 

For A Few Minutes The Room Was Quiet Except For The Crackling Of The

Fire,  Which Was Beginning To Burn Low. The Shadows Were Creeping Up On

The Boys; The Flames Were Less Merry.

 

Carl Took His Pipe Out Of His Mouth And Drawled Softly,  "I Had Better

Luck."

 

Hugh Pricked Up His Ears. "You Haven't Really Fallen In Love,  Have You?"

He Demanded Eagerly. Carl Had Often Said That He Would Never Fall In

Love,  That He Was "Too Wise" To Women.

 

"No,  I Didn't Fall In Love; Nothing Like That. I Met A Bunch Of Janes

Down At Bar Harbor. Some Of Them I'd Known Before,  But I Met Some New

Ones,  Too. Had A Damn Good Time. Some Of Those Janes Certainly Could

Neck,  And They Were Ready For It Any Time. Gee,  If The Old Lady Hadn't

Been There,  I'd A Been Potted About Half The Time. As It Was,  I Drank

Enough Gin And Scotch To Float A Battle-Ship. Well,  The Old Lady Had To

Go To New York On Account Of Some Business; So I Went Down To Christmas

Cove To Visit Some People I Know There. Christmas Cove's A Nice Place;

Not So High-Hat As Bar Harbor,  But Still It's A Nice Place."

 

Hugh Felt That Carl Was Leaving The Main Track,  And He Hastened To

Shunt Him Back. "Sure," He Said In Cheerful Agreement; "Sure It Is--But

What Happened?"

 

"What Happened? Oh--Oh,  Yes!" Carl Brought Himself Back To The Present

With An Obvious Effort. "Sure,  I'll Tell You What Happened. Well,  There

Was A Girl There Named Elaine Marston. She Wasn't Staying With The Folks

I Was,  But They Knew Her,  So I Saw A Lot Of Her. See?"

 

"Sure." Hugh Wished He Would Hurry Up. Carl Didn't Usually Wander All

Over When Telling A Story. This Must Be Something Special.

 

"Well,  I Saw Lots Of Her. Lots. Pretty Girl,  Nice Family And Everything,

But She Liked Her Booze And She Liked To Pet. Awful Hot Kid. Well,  One

Night We Went To A Dance,  And Between Dances We Had A Lot Of Gin I Had

Brought With Me. Good Stuff,  Too. I Bought It Off A Guy Who Brought It

Down From Canada Himself. Where Was I? Oh,  Yes,  At The Dance. We Both

Got Pie-Eyed; I Was All Liquored Up,  And I Guess She Was,  Too. After The

Dance Was Over,  I Dared Her To Walk Over To South Bristol--That's Just

Across The Island,  You Know--And Then Walk Back Again. Well,  We Hadn't

Gone Far When We Decided To Sit Down. We Were Both Kinda Dizzy From The

Gin. You Have To Go Through The Woods,  You Know,  And It's Dark As Hell

In There At Night.... We Sat Down Among Some Ferns And I Began To Pet

Her. Don't Know Why--Just Did.... Oh,  Hell! What's The Use Of Going

Into Details? You Can Guess What Happened."

 

Hugh Sat Suddenly Erect. "You Didn't--"

 

Carl Stood Up And Stretched. "Yeah," He Yawned,  "I Did It. Lots Of Times

Afterwards."

 

Hugh Was Dazed. He Didn't Know What To Think. For An Instant He Was

Shocked,  And Then He Was Envious. "Wonder If Janet Would Have Gone The

Whole Way," Flitted Across His Mind. He Instantly Dismissed The

Question; He Felt That It Wasn't Fair To Janet. But Carl? Gosh!

 

Carl Yawned Again. "Great Stuff," He Said Nonchalantly. "Sleepy As Hell.

Guess I'll Hit The Hay." He Eyed Hugh Suspiciously. "You Aren't Shocked,

Are You? You Don't Think I'm A Moral Leper Or Anything Like That?" He

Attempted To Be Light But Wasn't Altogether Successful.

 

"Of Course Not." Hugh Denied The Suggestion Vehemently,  And Yet Down In

His Heart He Felt A Keen Disappointment. He Hardly Knew Why He Was

Disappointed,  But He Was. "Going To Bed?" He Asked As Casually As He

Could.

 

"Yeah. Good Night."

 

"Good Night,  Old Man."

 

Each Boy Went To His Own Bedroom,  Hugh To Go To Bed And Think Carl's

Story Over. It Thrilled Him,  And He Envied Carl,  And Yet--And Yet He

Wished Carl Hadn't Done It. It Made Him And Carl Different--Sorta Not

The Same; No That Wasn't It. He Didn't Know Just What The Trouble Was,

But There Was A Sharp Sting Of Disillusionment That Hurt. He Would Have

Been More Confused Had He Known What Was Happening In Carl's Room.

 

Carl Had Walked Into His Own Bedroom,  Lighted The Light,  And Closed The

Door. Then He Walked To The Dresser And Stared At Himself In The Mirror,

Stared A Long Time As If The Face Were Somehow New To Him.

 

There Was A Picture Of The "Old Lady" On The Dresser. It Caught His Eye,

And He Flinched. It Seemed To Look At Him Reproachfully. He Thought Of

His Mother,  And He Thought Of How He Had Bluffed Hugh. He Had Cried

After His First Experience With The Girl.

 

He Looked Again Into The Mirror. "You Goddamn Hypocrite," He Said

Softly; "You Goddamn Hypocrite." His Lip Curled In Contempt At His

Image.

 

He Began To Undress Rapidly. The Eyes Of The "Old Lady" In The Picture

Seemed To Follow Him Around The Room. The Thought Of Her Haunted Him.

Desperately,  He Switched Out The Light.

 

Once In Bed,  He Rolled Over On His Stomach And Buried His Face In The

Pillow. "God!" He Whispered. "God!"

 

 

 

Chapter 15

Sanford Defeated Raleigh This Year In Football,  And For A Time The

College Was Wild With Excitement And Delight. Most Of The Free Lumber In

Haydensville Was Burned In A Triumphant Bonfire,  And Many Of The

Undergraduates Celebrated So Joyously With Their Winnings That They

Looked Sadly Bedraggled For Several Days Afterward.

 

The Victory Was Discussed Until The Boys Were Thoroughly Sick Of It,  And

Then They Settled Down To A Normal Life,  Studying; Playing Pool,

Billiards,  And Cards; Going To The Movies,  Reading A Little,  And Holding

Bull Sessions.

 

Hugh Attended Many Bull Sessions. Some Of Them He Found Interesting,  But

Many Of Them Were Merely Orgies Of Filthy Talk,  The Participants Vying

With One Another In Telling The Dirtiest Stories; And Although Hugh Was

Not A Prig,  He Was Offended By A Dirty Story That Was Told Merely For

The Sake Of Its Dirt. Pudge Jamieson's Stories Were Smutty,  But They

Were Funny,  Too,  And He Could Send Hugh Into Paroxysms Of Laughter Any

Time That He Chose.

 

One Night In Late November Hugh Was In Gordon Ross's Room In Surrey

Along With Four Others. Ross Was A Senior,  A Quiet Man With Gray Eyes,

Rather Heavy Features,  And Soft Brown Hair. He Was Considerably Older

Than The Others,  Having Worked For Several Years Before He Came To

College. He Listened To The Stories That Were Being Told,  Occasionally

Smiled,  But More Often Studied The Group Curiously.

 

The Talk Became Exceedingly Nasty,  And Hugh Was About To Leave In

Disgust When The Discussion Suddenly Turned Serious.

 

"Do You Know," Said George Winsor Abruptly,  "I Wonder Why We Hold These

Smut Sessions. I Sit Here And Laugh Like A Fool And Am Ashamed Of Myself

Half The Time. And This Isn't The Only Smut Session That's Going On

Right Now. I Bet There's Thirty At Least Going On Around The Campus. Why

Are We Always Getting Into Little Groups And Covering Each Other With

Filth? College Men Are Supposed To Be Gentlemen,  And We Talk Like A Lot

Of Gutter-Pups." Winsor Was A Sophomore,  A Fine Student,  And Thoroughly

Popular. He Looked Like An Unkempt Airedale. His Clothes,  Even When New,

Never Looked Neat,  And His Rusty Hair Refused To Lie Flat. He Had An

Eager,  Quick Way About Him,  And His Brown Eyes Were Very Bright And

Lively.

 

"Yes,  That's What I Want To Know," Hugh Chimed In,  Forgetting All About

His Desire To Leave. "I'm Always Sitting In On Bull Sessions,  But I

Think They Re Rotten. About Every So Often I Make Up My Mind That I

Won't Take Part In Another One,  And Before I Know It Somebody's Telling

Me The Latest And I'm Listening For All I'm Worth."

 

"That's Easy,"' Melville Burbank Answered. He Was A Junior With A

Brilliant Record. "You're Merely Sublimating Your Sex Instincts,  That's

All. If You Played Around With Cheap Women More,  You Wouldn't Be

Thinking About Sex All The Time And Talking Smut."

 

"You're Crazy!" It Was Keith Nutter Talking,  A Sophomore Notorious For

His Dissipations. "Hell,  I'm Out With Bags All The Time,  As You Damn

Well Know. My Sex Instincts Don't Need Sublimating,  Or Whatever You Call

It,  And I Talk Smut As Much As Anybody--More Than Some."

 

"Perhaps You're Just Naturally Dirty," Burbank Said,  His Voice Edged

With Sarcasm. He Didn't Like Nutter. The Boy Seemed Gross To Him.

 

"Go To Hell! I'm No Dirtier Than Anybody Else." Nutter Was Not Only

Angry But Frankly Hurt. "The Only Difference Between Me And The Rest Of

You Guys Is That I Admit That I Chase Around With Rats,  And The Rest Of

You Do It On The Sly. I'm No Hypocrite."

 

"Oh,  Come Off,  Keith," Gordon Ross Said Quietly; "You're Not Fair. I

Admit That Lots Of The Fellows Are Chasing Around With Rats On The Sly,

But Lots Of Them Aren't,  Too. More Fellows Go Straight Around This

College Than You Think. I Know A Number That Have Never Touched A Woman.

They Just Hate To Admit They're Pure,  That's All; And You Take Their

Bluff For The Real Thing."

 

"You've Got To Show Me." Nutter Was Almost Sullen. "I Admit That I'm No

Angel,  But I Don't Believe That I'm A Damn Bit Worse Than The Average.

Besides,  What's Wrong About It,  Anyhow? It's Just As Natural As Eating,

And I Don't See Where There Is Anything Worse About It."

 

George Winsor Stood Up And Leaned Against The Mantel. He Ran His Fingers

Through His Hair Until It Stood Grotesquely On End. "Oh,  That's The Old

Argument. I've Heard It Debated In A Hundred Bull Sessions. One Fellow

Says It's All Wrong,  And Another Fellow Says It's All Right,  And You

Never Get Anywhere. I Want Somebody To Tell Me What's Wrong About It And

What's Right. God Knows You Don't Find Out In Your Classes. They Have

Doc Conners Give Those Smut Talks To Us In Our Freshman Year,  And A

Devil Of A Lot Of Good They Do. A Bunch Of Fellows Faint And Have To Be

Lugged Out,  And The Doc Gives You Some Sickening Details About Venereal

Diseases,  And That's As Far As You Get. Now,  I'm All Messed Up About

This Sex Business,  And I'll Admit That I'm Thinking About It All The

Time,  Too. Some Fellows Say It's All Right To Have A Woman,  And Some

Fellows Say It's All Wrong,  But I Notice None Of Them Have Any Use For A

Woman Who Isn't Straight."

 

All Of The Boys Were Sitting In Easy-Chairs Except Donald Ferguson,  Who

Was Lying On The Couch And Listening In Silence. He Was A Handsome Youth

With Scotch Blue Eyes And Sandy Hair. Women Were Instantly Attracted By

His Good Looks,  Splendid Physique,  Slow Smile,  And Quiet Drawl.

 

He Spoke For The First Time. "The Old Single-Standard Fight," He Said,

Propping His Head On His Hand. "I Don't See Any Sense In Scrapping About

That Any More. We've Got A Single Standard Now. The Girls Go Just As

Fast As