College stories, American; Princeton (N.J.) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Princeton University -- Fiction
remembered, to find the rest of it--"it would break her heart." "Of
course," he said to himself, hurriedly, "it wouldn't do at all." Then
he thought he did not care to dwell upon old times any more. It was at
this point that he awoke, so to speak, and found himself walking with
this freshman whose name he did not know.
But instead of everything springing back to actuality immediately as
one would suppose, it took some time to hammer things into seeming as
they really were in their proper proportions. It was like trying to
act sober. He began by paying conscious attention to what his young
friend was saying.
After all he was only a freshman. He talked like any other fellow
except that his voice was more gentle, and he had a deferential manner
when addressing him. Though rather young to be in college and of
unusual appearance, there was not enough about him to affect a fellow
in such a queer sentimental way.
And yet he did. To Lawrence he seemed different from everyone else in
the world. He had never experienced this peculiar melting feeling
toward anyone before. What was more, he liked it, and he had no
thought of laughing himself out of it. He had an undefined idea that
it was doing him good. He felt like clinging close to this companion
who was younger and seemed so many times better and purer than
himself.
Then suddenly the senior was struck by something he had not remarked
before. He waited a moment to make sure. Then it came again. There was
no mistaking it this time. The refined voice was dragging in profanity
at absurdly frequent intervals, with every other sentence almost. He
had very likely been doing so all along. And the odd part of this was
that every word of it was making Lawrence wince and shiver like seeing
a respectable woman drunk. It was none of his business. It was all
nonsense. The expletives were not very bad ones anyway. But he did
not care to stand any more of this; and as abruptly as he had proposed
the walk he said: "Oh, excuse me, I have an engagement," and turned
rapidly toward the campus. Perhaps neurasthenia had a hand in this
also.
He did not stop to see how the freshman took it. He did not want to
think of him now. He fairly ran up Nassau Street with a feeling as
though someone was after him. He rushed past the fellows along the
walk and nearly bumped into the three old professors starting off with
the Irish setter for their sedate evening stroll. He was trembling
when he reached his room, and he slammed the door and threw himself
down on the rug before the fire.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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