The Plastic Age - Percy Marks (i have read the book .TXT) 📗

said about parents. They do cheat us just as Don said. I never tell my folks anything that really matters, and I don’t know any other fellows that do, either. I suppose there are some, but I don’t know them. And I admit that there is sin and vice, but I don’t admit that Christ’s philosophy is useless. I’ve read the Sermon on the Mount, too. That’s about all of the Bible that I have read, but I’ve read that; and I tell you you’re all wrong. There is enough good in man to make that philosophy practical. Why, there is more kindness and goodness around than we know about. We see the evil, and we know we have lusts and⁠—and things, but we do good, too. And Hugh was right when he talked a while ago about the beauty in the world. There’s lots of it, lots and lots of it. There’s beautiful poetry and beautiful music and beautiful scenery; and there are people who appreciate all of it. I tell you that in spite of everything life is worth living. And I believe in Christ’s philosophy, too. I don’t know whether He is the son of God or not⁠—I think that He must be⁠—but that doesn’t make any difference. Look at the wonderful influence He has had.”

“Rot,” said Burbank calmly, “absolute rot. There has never been a good deed done in His name; just the Inquisition and the what-do-you-call-’ems in Russia. Oh, yes, pogroms⁠—and wars and robbing people. Christianity is just a name; there isn’t any such thing. And most of the professional Christians that I’ve seen are damn fools. I tell you, George, it’s all wrong. We’re all in the dark, and I don’t believe the profs know any more about it than we do.”

“Oh, yes, they do,” Hugh exclaimed; “they must. Think of all the studying they’ve done.”

“Bah.” Burbank was contemptuous. “They’ve read a lot of books, that’s all. Most of them never had an idea in their lives. Oh, I know that some of them think; if they didn’t, I’d leave college tomorrow. It’s men like Davis and Maxwell and Henley and Jimpson who keep me here. But most of the profs can’t do anything more than spout a few facts that they’ve got out of books. No, they don’t know any more about it than we do. We don’t know why we’re here or where we’re going or what we ought to do while we are here. And we get into groups and tell smutty stories and talk about women and religion, and we don’t know any more than when we started. Think of all the talk that goes on around this college about sex. There’s no end to it. Some of the fellows say positively there’s no sense in staying straight; and a few, damn few, admit that they think a fellow ought to leave women alone, but most of them are in a muddle.”

He rose and stretched. “I’ve got to be going⁠—philosophy quiz tomorrow.” He smiled. “I don’t agree with Nutter, and I don’t agree with George, and I don’t agree with you, Don; and the worst of it is that I don’t agree with myself. You fellows can bull about this some more if you want to; I’ve got to study.”

“No, they can’t,” said Ross. “Not here, anyway. I’ve got to study, too. The whole of you’ll have to get out.”

The boys rose and stretched. Ferguson rolled lazily off the couch. “Well,” he said with a yawn, “this has been very edifying. I’ve heard it all before in a hundred bull sessions, and I suppose I’ll hear it all again. I don’t know why I’ve hung around. There’s a little dame that I’ve got to write a letter to, and, believe me, she’s a damn sight more interesting than all your bull.” He strolled out of the door, drawling a slow “good night” over his shoulder.

Hugh went to his room and thought over the talk. He was miserably confused. Like Ferguson he had believed everything that his father and mother⁠—and the minister⁠—had told him, and he found himself beginning to discard their ideas. There didn’t seem to be any ideas to put in the place of those he discarded. Until Carl’s recent confidence he had believed firmly in chastity, but he discovered, once the first shock had worn off, that he liked Carl the unchaste just as much as he had Carl the chaste. Carl seemed neither better nor worse for his experience.

He was lashed by desire; he was burning with curiosity⁠—and yet, and yet something held him back. Something⁠—he hardly knew what it was⁠—made him avoid any woman who had a reputation for moral laxity. He shrank from such a woman⁠—and desired her so intensely that he was ashamed.

Life was suddenly becoming very complicated, more complicated, it seemed, every day. With other undergraduates he discussed women and religion endlessly, but he never reached any satisfactory conclusions. He wished that he knew some professor that he could talk to. Surely some of them must know the answers to his riddles.⁠ ⁠…

XVI

Hugh wasn’t troubled only by religion and sex; the whole college was disturbing his peace of mind: all of his illusions were being ruthlessly shattered. He had supposed that all professors were wise men, that their knowledge was almost limitless, and he was finding that many of the undergraduates were frankly contemptuous of the majority of their teachers and that he himself was finding inspiration from only a few of them. He went to his classes because he felt that he had to, but in most of them he was confused or bored. He learned more in the bull sessions than he did in the classroom, and men like Ross and Burbank were teaching him more than his instructors.

Further, Nu Delta was proving a keen disappointment. More and more he found himself thinking of Malcolm Graham’s talk to him during the rushing season of his freshman