After Christmas came the mid-year exams. Neale went into them
confidently enough--and to his astonishment emerged with passing marks,
but with no great credit. D in German was the worst, and he'd studied
German since he was a little boy! Greek, English and Latin marked him as
mediocre with a C. Comparative Literature alone rated him B--and every
one knew that Comp. Lit. was a snap course. Neale had never thought of
himself as a grind, but he had been used to high marks at school, and
the low grades nettled him. He began to see that there was more to this
college work than he had understood. The studies themselves were not
unlike those of high school; indeed they were easier than the science
and mathematics that had been hammered into him at Hadley. But the point
of view was different, and that had fooled him. There was a "take it or
leave it" attitude about everything at college; the professors did not,
as at Hadley, hold their jobs only because they were able to drive the
bright, the dull, the scatter-brained, the sluggish, all through passing
grades for the next year's work. No, these college professors and
instructors gave themselves no such trouble. They set out their wares.
If the students helped themselves, so much the better: if they didn't,
so much the worse--for the students. Neale mis-called the professors for
lazy time-servers: but he wasn't going to let them put it over on him
that way another time. He would read everything they suggested and more!
They would be astonished by the brilliance of his finals. But just then
baseball practice started in the cage and Neale forgot all about his
vendetta against the professors.
At baseball he expected to shine. This he had really played before
coming to college. April saw the Freshman baseball squad practising on
South Field. It was a terrible jolt to Neale to find himself in the
discard. His vacant-lot, light-of-nature game had not compared favorably
with the play of graduates of well-coached Prep. schools. He was thrown
back on the Library. Perhaps it was just as well, he told himself with
sour-grape philosophy. After all he was there, among other things, to
get an education.
CHAPTER XXIII
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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