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Plastic Age, The

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<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> For the next few days Carl and Hugh did little but wait in line. They lined up to register; they lined up to pay tuition; they lined up to shake hands with President Culver; they lined up to talk for two quite useless minutes with the freshman dean; they lined up to be assigned seats in the commons. Carl suggested that he and Hugh line up in the study before going to bed so that they would keep in practice. Then they had to attend lectures given by various members of the faculty about college customs, college manners, college honor, college everything. After the sixth of them, Hugh, thoroughly weary and utterly confused, asked Carl if he now had any idea of what college was. "Yes," replied Carl; "it's a young ladies' school for very nice boys." "Well," Hugh said desperately, "if I have to listen to about two more awfully noble lectures, I'm going to get drunk. I have a hunch that college isn't anything like what these old birds say it is. I hope not, anyway." "Course it isn't. Say, why wait for two more of the damn things to kill you off?" He pulled a flask out of his desk drawer and held it out invitingly. Hugh laughed. "You told me yourself that that stuff was catgut and that you wouldn't drink it on a bet. Besides, you know that I don't drink. If I'm going to make my letter, I've got to keep in trim." "Right you are. Wish I knew what to do with this poison. If I leave it around here, the biddy'll get hold of it, and then God help us. I'll tell you what: after it gets dark to-night we'll take it down and poison the waters of dear old Indian Lake." "All right. Say, I've got to pike along; I've got a date with my faculty adviser. Hope I don't have to stand in line." He didn't have to stand in line—he was permitted to sit—but he did have to wait an hour and a half. Finally a student came out of the inner office, and a gruff voice from within called, "Next!" "Just like a barber shop," flashed across Hugh's mind as he entered the tiny office. An old-young man was sitting behind a desk shuffling papers. He glanced up as Hugh came in and motioned him to a chair beside him. Hugh sat down and stared at his feet. "Um, let's see. Your name's—what?" "Carver, sir. Hugh Carver." The adviser, Professor Kane, glanced at some notes. "Oh, yes, from Merrytown High School, fully accredited. Are you taking an A. B. or a B. S.?" "I—I don't know." "You have to have one year of college Latin for a B. S. and at least two years of Greek besides for an A. B." "Oh!" Hugh was frightened and confused. He knew that his father was an A. B., but he had heard the high-school principal say that Greek was useless nowadays. Suddenly he remembered: the principal had advised him to take a B. S.; he had said that it was more practical. "I guess I'd better take a B. S.," he said softly. "Very well." Professor Kane, who hadn't yet looked at Hugh, picked up a schedule card. "Any middle name?" he asked abruptly. "Yes, sir—Meredith." Kane scribbled H. M. Carver at the top of the card and then proceeded to fill it in rapidly. He hastily explained the symbols that he was using, but he did not say anything about the courses. When he had completed the schedule, he copied it on another card, handed one to Hugh, and stuck the other into a filing-box. "Anything else?" he asked, turning his blond, blank face toward Hugh for the first time. Hugh stood up. There were a dozen questions that he wanted to ask. "No, sir," he replied. "Very well, then. I am your regular adviser. You will come to me when you need assistance. Good day." "Good day, sir," and as Hugh passed out of the door, the gruff voice bawled, "Next!" The boy nearest the door rose and entered the sanctum. Hugh sought the open air and gazed at the hieroglyphics on the card. "Guess they mean something," he mused, "but how am I going to find out?" A sudden fear made him blanch. "I bet I get into the wrong places. Oh, golly!" <hr style='width: 45%;' /> Then came the upper-classmen, nearly seven hundred of them. The quiet campus became a bedlam of excitement and greetings. "Hi, Jack. Didya have a good summer?"... "Well, Tom, ol' kid, I sure am glad to see you back."... "Put her there, ol' scout; it's sure good to see you." Everywhere the same greetings: "Didya have a good summer? Glad to see you back." Every one called every one else by his first name; every one shook hands with astonishing vigor, usually clutching the other fellow by the forearm at the same time. How cockily these lads went around the campus! No confusion or fear for them; they knew what to do. For the first time Hugh felt a pang of homesickness; for the first time he realized that he wasn't yet part of the college. He clung close to Carl and one or two other lads in Surrey with whom he picked up an acquaintance, and Carl clung close to Hugh, careful to hide the fact that he felt very small and meek. For the first time he realized that he was just a freshman—and he didn't like it. Then suddenly the tension, which had been gathering for a day or so, broke. Orders went out from the upper-classmen that all freshmen put on their baby bonnets, silly little blue caps with a bright orange button. From that moment every freshman was doomed. Work was their lot, and plenty of it. "Hi, freshman, carry up my trunk. Yeah, you, freshman—you with the skinny legs. You and your fat friend carry my trunk up to the fourth floor—and if you drop it, I'll break your fool necks."... "Freshman! go down to the station and get my suit-cases. Here are the checks. Hurry back if you know what's good for you."... "Freshman! go up to Hill Twenty-eight and put the beds together."... "Freshman! come up to my room. I want you to hang pictures." Fortunately the labor did not last long, but while it lasted Hugh was hustled around as he never had been before. And he loved it. He loved his blue cap and its orange button; he loved the upper-classmen who called him freshman and ordered him around; he loved the very trunks that he lugged so painfully up-stairs. He was being recognized, merely as a janitor, it is true, but recognized; at last he was a part of Sanford College. Further, one of the men who had ordered him around the most fiercely wore a Nu Delta pin, the emblem of his father's fraternity. He ran that man's errands with such speed and willingness that the hero decided that the freshman was "very, very dumb." That night Hugh and Carl sat in 19 Surrey and rested their aching bones, one on a couch, the other in a leather Morris chair. "Hot stuff, wasn't it?" said Hugh, stretching out comfortably. "Hot stuff, hell! How do they get that way?" "Never mind; we'll do the ordering next year." "Right you are," said Carl decisively, lighting a cigarette, "and won't I make the little frosh walk." He gazed around the room, his face beaming with satisfaction. "Say, we're pretty snappy here, aren't we?" Hugh, too, looked around admiringly. The walls were almost hidden by banners, a huge Sanford blanket—Hugh's greatest contribution—Carl's Kane blanket, the photographs of the "harem," posters of college athletes and movie bathing-girls, pipe-racks, and three Maxfield Parrish prints. "It certainly is fine," said Hugh proudly. "All we need is a barber pole and a street sign." "We'll have 'em before the week is out." This with great decision.   <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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