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

And Glanced At The Men Inside

The Room.

 

"Hi,  Hugh. Come In And Bull A While."

 

"Not To-Night,  Thanks." He Moved On Down The Hall,  Feeling A Vague

Resentment; His Mood Had Been Broken,  Shattered.

 

The Door Opposite His Own Room Was Slightly Open. A Freshman Lived

There,  Herbert Morse,  A Queer Chap With Whom Carl And Hugh Had Succeeded

In Scraping Up Only The Slightest Acquaintance. He Was A Big Fellow,

Fully Six Feet,  Husky And Quick. The Football Coach Said That He Had The

Makings Of A Great Half-Back,  But He Had Already Been Fired Off The

Squad Because Of His Irregularity In Reporting For Practice. Except For

What The Boys Called His Stand-Offishness--Some Of Them Said That He Was

Too Damned High-Hat--He Was Extremely Attractive. He Had Red,  Almost

Copper-Colored,  Hair,  And An Exquisite Skin,  As Delicate As A Child's.

His Features Were Well Carved,  His Nose Slightly Aquiline--A Magnificent

Looking Fellow,  Almost Imperious; Or As Hugh Once Said To Carl,  "Morse

Looks Kinda Noble."

 

As Hugh Placed His Hand On The Door-Knob Of No 19,  He Heard Something

That Sounded Suspiciously Like A Sob From Across The Hall. He Paused And

Listened. He Was Sure That He Could Hear Some One Crying.

 

"Wonder What's Wrong," He Thought,  Instantly Disturbed And Sympathetic.

 

He Crossed The Hall And Tapped Lightly On Morse's Door. There Was No

Answer; Nor Was There Any When He Tapped A Second Time. For A Moment He

Was Abashed,  And Then He Pushed Open The Door And Entered Morse's Room.

 

In The Far Corner Morse Was Sitting At His,  Desk,  His Head Buried In His

Arms,  His Shoulders Shaking. He Was Crying Fiercely,  Terribly; At Times

His Whole Body Jerked In The Violence Of His Sobbing.

 

Hugh Stood By The Door Embarrassed And Rather Frightened. Morse's Grief

Brought A Lump To His Throat. He Had Never Seen Any One Cry Like That

Before. Something Had To Be Done. But What Could He Do? He Had No Right

To Intrude On Morse,  But He Couldn't Let The Poor Fellow Go On Suffering

Like That. As He Stood There Hesitant,  Shaken,  Morse Buried His Head

Deeper In His Arms,  Moaned Convulsively,  Twisting And Trembling After A

Series Of Sobs That Seemed To Tear Themselves From Him. That Was Too

Much For Hugh. He Couldn't Stand It. Some Force Outside Of Him Sent Him

Across The Room To Morse. He Put His Hand On A Quivering Shoulder And

Said Gently:

 

"What Is It,  Morse? What's The Matter?"

 

Morse Ran His Hand Despairingly Through His Red Hair,  Shook His Head,

And Made No Answer.

 

"Come On,  Old Man; Buck Up." Hugh's Voice Trembled; It Was Husky With

Sympathy. "Tell Me About It. Maybe I Can Help."

 

Then Morse Looked Up,  His Face Stained With Tears,  His Eyes Inflamed,

Almost Desperate. He Stared At Hugh Wonderingly. For An Instant He Was

Angry At The Intrusion,  But His Anger Passed At Once. He Could Not Miss

The Tenderness And Sympathy In Hugh's Face; And The Boy's Hand Was Still

Pressing With Friendly Insistence On His Shoulder. There Was Something

So Boyishly Frank,  So Clean And Honest About Hugh That His Irritation

Melted Into Confidence; And He Craved A Confidant Passionately.

 

"Shut The Door," He Said Dully,  And Reached Into His Trousers Pocket For

His Handkerchief. He Mopped His Face And Eyes Vigorously While Hugh Was

Closing The Door,  And Then Blew His Nose As If He Hated It. But The

Tears Continued To Come,  And All During His Talk With Hugh He Had To

Pause Occasionally To Dry His Eyes.

 

Hugh Stood Awkwardly In The Middle Of The Rug,  Not Knowing Whether To

Sit Down Or Not. Morse Was Clutching His Handkerchief In His Hand And

Staring At The Floor. Finally He Spoke Up.

 

"Sit Down," He Said In A Dead Voice,  "There."

 

Hugh Sank Into The Chair Morse Indicated And Then Gripped His Hands

Together. He Felt Weak And Frightened,  And Absolutely Unable To Say

Anything. But Morse Saved Him The Trouble.

 

"I Suppose You Think I Am An Awful Baby," He Began,  His Voice Thick With

Tears,  "But I Just Can't Help It. I--I Just Can't Help It. I Don't Want

To Cry,  But I Do." And Then He Added Defiantly,  "Go Ahead And Think I'm

A Baby If You Want To."

 

"I Don't Think You're A Baby," Hugh Said Softly; "I'm Just Sorry; That's

All.... I Hope I Can Help." He Smiled Shyly,  Hopefully.

 

His Smile Conquered Morse. "You're A Good Kid,  Carver," He Cried

Impulsively. "A Darn Good Kid. I Like You,  And I'm Going To Tell You All

About It. And I--I--I Won't Care If You Laugh."

 

"I Won't Laugh," Hugh Promised,  Relieved To Think That There Was A

Possibility Of Laughing. The Trouble Couldn't Be So Awfully Bad.

 

Morse Blew His Nose,  Stuck His Handkerchief Into His Pocket,  Pulled It

Out Again And Dabbed His Eyes,  Returned It To His Pocket,  And Suddenly

Stood Up.

 

"I'm Homesick!" He Blurred Out. "I'm--I'm Homesick,  Damned Homesick.

I've Been Homesick Ever Since I Arrived. I--I Just Can't Stand It."

 

For An Instant Hugh Did Have A Wild Desire To Laugh. Part Of The Desire

Was Caused By Nervous Relief,  But Part Of It Was Caused By What Seemed

To Him The Absurdity Of The Situation: A Big Fellow Like Morse

Blubbering,  Bawling For Home And Mother!

 

"You Can't Know," Morse Went On,  "How Awful It Is--Awful! I Want To Cry

All The Time. I Can't Listen In Classes. A Prof Asked Me A Question

To-Day,  And I Didn't Know What He Had Been Talking About. He Asked Me

What He Had Said. I Had To Say I Didn't Know. The Whole Class Laughed,

And The Prof Asked Me Why I Had Come To College. God! I Nearly Died."

 

Hugh's Sympathy Was All Captured Again. He Knew That He _Would_ Die If

He Ever Made A Fool Of Himself In The Class-Room.

 

"Gosh!" He Exclaimed. "What Did You Say?"

 

"Nothing. I Couldn't Think Of Anything. For A Minute I Thought That My

Head Was Going To Bust. He Quit Razzing Me And I Tried To Pay Attention,

But I Couldn't; All I Could Do Was Think Of Home. Lord! I Wish I Was

There!" He Mopped At His Eyes And Paced Up And Down The Room Nervously.

 

"Oh,  You'll Get Over That," Hugh Said Comfortingly. "Pretty Soon You'll

Get To Know Lots Of Fellows,  And Then You Won't Mind About Home."

 

"That's What I Keep Telling Myself,  But It Don't Work. I Can't Eat Or

Sleep. I Can't Study. I Can't Do Anything. I Tell You I've Got To Go

Home. I've _Got_ To!" This Last With Desperate Emphasis.

 

Hugh Smiled. "You're All Wrong," He Asserted Positively. "You're Just

Lonely; That's All. I Bet That You'll Be Crazy About College In A

Month--Same As The Rest Of Us. When You Feel Blue,  Come In And See

Peters And Me. We'll Make You Grin; Peters Will,  Anyway. You Can't Be

Blue Around Him."

 

Morse Sat Down. "You Don't Understand. I'm Not Lonely. It Isn't That. I

Could Talk To Fellows All Day Long If I Wanted To. I Don't Want To Talk

To 'Em. I Can't. There's Just One Person That I Want To Talk To,  And

That's My Mother." He Shot The Word "Mother" Out Defiantly And Glared At

Hugh,  Silently Daring Him To Laugh,  Which Hugh Had Sense Enough Not To

Do,  Although He Wanted To Strongly. The Great Big Baby,  Wanting His

Mother! Why,  He Wanted His Mother,  Too,  But He Didn't Cry About It.

 

"That's All Right," He Said Reassuringly; "You'll See Her Christmas

Vacation,  And That Isn't Very Long Off."

 

"I Want To See Her Now!" Morse Jumped To His Feet And Raised His

Clenched Hands Above His Head. "Now!" He Roared. "Now! I've Got To. I'm

Going Home On The Midnight." He Whirled About To His Desk And Began To

Pull Open The Drawers,  Piling Their Contents On The Top.

 

"Here!" Hugh Rushed To Him And Clutched His Arms. "Don't Do That." Morse

Struggled,  Angry At The Restraining Hands,  Ready To Strike Them Off.

Hugh Had A Flash Of Inspiration. "Think How Disappointed Your Mother

Will Be," He Cried,  Hanging On To Morse's Arms; "Think Of Her."

 

Morse Ceased Struggling. "She Will Be Disappointed," He Admitted

Miserably. "What Can I Do?" There Was A World Of Despair In His

Question.

 

Hugh Pushed Him Into The Desk-Chair And Seated Himself On The Edge Of

The Desk. "I'll Tell You," He Said. He Talked For Half An Hour,  Cheering

Morse,  Assuring Him That His Homesickness Would Pass Away,  Offering To

Study With Him. At First Morse Paid Little Attention,  But Finally He

Quit Sniffing And Looked Up,  Real Interest In His Face. When Hugh Got A

Weak Smile Out Of Him,  He Felt That His Work Had Been Done. He Jumped

Off The Desk,  Leaned Over To Slap Morse On The Back,  And Told Him That

He Was A Good Egg But A Damn Fool.

 

Morse Grinned. "You're A Good Egg Yourself," He Said Gratefully. "You've

Saved My Life."

 

Hugh Was Pleased And Blushed. "You're Full Of Bull.... Remember,  We Do

Latin At Ten To-Morrow." He Opened The Door. "Good Night."

 

"Good Night." And Hugh Heard As He Closed The Door. "Thanks A Lot."

 

When He Opened His Own Door,  He Found Carl Sitting Before A Blazing Log

Fire. There Was No Other Light In The Room. Carl Had Written His Nightly

Letter To The "Old Lady," And He Was A Little Homesick Himself--Softened

Into A Tender And Pensive Mood. He Did Not Move As Hugh Sat Down In A

Big Chair On The Other Side Of The Hearth And Said Softly,  "Thinking?"

 

"Un-Huh. Where You Been?"

 

"Across The Hall In Morse's Room." Then As Carl Looked Up In Surprise,

He Told Him Of His Experience With Their Red-Headed Neighbor. "He'll Get

Over It," He Concluded Confidently. "He's Just Been Lonely."

 

Carl Puffed Contemplatively At His Pipe For A Few Minutes Before

Replying. Hugh Waited,  Watching The Slender Boy Stretched Out In A Big

Chair Before The Fire,  His Ankles Crossed,  His Face Gentle And Boyish In

The Ruddy,  Flickering Light. The Shadows,  Heavy And Wavering,  Played

Magic With The Room; It Was Vast,  Mysterious.

 

"No," Said Carl,  Pausing Again To Puff His Pipe; "No,  He Won't Get Over

It. He'll Go Home."

 

"Aw,  Shucks. A Big Guy Like That Isn't Going To Stay A Baby All His

Life." Hugh Was Frankly Derisive. "Soon As He Gets To Know A Lot Of

Fellows,  He'll Forget Home And Mother."

 

Carl Smiled Vaguely,  His Eyes Dreamy As He Gazed Into The Hypnotizing

Flames. The Mask Of Sophistication Had Slipped Off His Face; He Was

Pleasantly In The Control Of A Gentle Mood,  A Mood That Erased The Last

Vestige Of Protective Coloring.

 

He Shook His Head Slowly. "You Don't Understand,  Hugh. Morse Is Sick,

_Sick_--Not Lonesome. He's Got Something Worse Than Flu. Nobody Can

Stand What He's Got."

 

Hugh Looked At Him In Bewilderment. This Was A New Carl,  Some One He

Hadn't Met Before. Gone Was The Slang Flippancy,  The Hard Roughness.

Even His Voice Was Softened.

 

Carl Knocked His Pipe Empty On The Knob Of An Andiron,  Sank Deeper Into

His Chair,  And Began To Speak Slowly.

 

"I Think I'm Going To Tell You A Thing Or Two About Myself. We've Got To

Room Together,  And I--Well,  I Like You. You're A Good Egg,  But You Don't

Get Me At All. I Guess You've Never Run Up Against Anybody Like Me

Before." He Paused. Hugh Said Nothing,  Afraid To Break Into Carl's Mood.

He Was Intensely Curious. He Leaned Forward And Watched Carl,  Who Was

Staring Dreamily Into The Fire.

 

"I Told You Once,  I Think," He Continued,  "That My Old Man Had Left Us A

Lot Of Jack. That's True. We're Rich,  Awfully Rich. I Have My Own

Account And Can Spend As Much As I Like. The Sky's The Limit. What I

Didn't Tell You Is That We're _Nouveau Riche_--No Class At All. My Old

Man Made All His Money The First Year Of The War. He Was A

Commission-Merchant,  A Middleman. Money Just Rolled In,  I Guess. He

Bought Stocks With It,  And They Boomed; And He Had Sense Enough To Sell

Them When They Were At The Top. Six Years Ago We Didn't Have Hardly

Anything. Now We're Rich."

 

"My Old Man Was A Good Scout,  But He Didn't Have Much Education; Neither

Has The Old Lady. Both Of 'Em Went Through Grammar-School; That's All."

 

"Well,  They Knew They Weren't Real Folks,  Not Regular People,  And They

Wanted Me To Be. See? That's Why They Sent Me To Kane. Well,  Kane Isn't

Strong For _Nouveau Riche_ Kids,  Not By A Damn Sight. At First Old

Simmonds--He's The Head Master--Wouldn't Take Me,  Said That He Didn't

Have Room; But My Old Man Begged And Begged,  So Finally Simmonds Said

All Right."

 

Again He Paused,  And Hugh Waited. Carl Was Speaking So Softly That He

Had Trouble In Hearing Him,  But Somehow He Didn't