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Plastic Age, The

<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> The college granted a vacation of three days between terms, but Hugh did not go home, nor did many of the other undergraduates. There was excitement in the air; the college was beginning to stew and boil again. Fraternity rushing was scheduled for the second week of the new term. The administration strictly prohibited the rushing of freshmen the first term; and, in general, the fraternities respected the rule. True, the fraternity men were constantly visiting eligible freshmen, chatting with them, discussing everything with them except fraternities. That subject was barred. Hugh and Carl received a great many calls from upper-classmen the first term, and Hugh had been astonished at Carl's reticence and silence. Carl, the flippant, the voluble, the "wise-cracker," lost his tongue the minute a man wearing a fraternity pin entered the room. Hugh was forced to entertain the all-important guest. Carl never explained how much he wanted to make a good fraternity, not any fraternity, only a good one; nor did he explain that his secret studying the first term had been inspired by his eagerness to be completely eligible. A good fraternity would put the seal of aristocracy on him; it would mean everything to the "old lady." For the first three nights of the rushing season the fraternities held open house for all freshmen, but during the last three nights no freshman was supposed to enter a fraternity house unless Invited. The first three nights found the freshmen traveling in scared groups from fraternity house to fraternity house, sticking close together unless rather vigorously pried apart by their hosts. Everybody was introduced to everybody else; everybody tried rather hopelessly to make conversation, and nearly everybody smoked too much, partly because they were nervous and partly because the "smokes" were free. It was the last three nights that counted. Both Hugh and Carl received invitations from most of the fraternities, and they stuck together, religiously visiting them all. Hugh hoped that they would "make" the same fraternity and that that fraternity would be Nu Delta. They were together so consistently during the rushing period that the story went around the campus that Carver and Peters were "going the same way," and that Carver had said that he wouldn't accept a bid from any fraternity unless it asked Peters, too. Hugh heard the story and couldn't understand it. Everybody seemed to take it for granted that he would be bid. Why didn't they take it equally for granted that Carl would be bid as well? He thought perhaps it was because he was an athlete and Carl wasn't; but the truth was, of course, that the upper-classmen perceived the nouveau riche quality in Carl quite as clearly as he did himself. He knew that his money and the fact that he had gone to a fashionable prep school would bring him bids, but would they be from the right fraternities? That was the all-important question. Those last three days of rushing were nerve-racking. At night the invited freshmen—and that meant about two thirds of the class—were at the fraternity houses until eleven; between classes and during every free hour they were accosted by earnest fraternity men, each presenting the superior merits of his fraternity. The fraternity men were wearier than the freshmen. They sat up until the small hours every morning discussing the freshmen they had entertained the night before. Hugh was in a daze. Over and over he heard the same words with only slight variations. A fraternity man would slap a fat book with an excited hand and exclaim: "This is 'Baird's Manual,' the final authority on fraternities, and it's got absolutely all the dope. You can see where we stand. Sixty chapters! You don't join just this one, y' understand; you join all of 'em. You're welcome wherever you go." Or, if the number of chapters happened to be small, "Baird's Manual" was referred to again. "Only fifteen chapters, you see. We don't take in new chapters every time they ask. We're darned careful to know what we're signing up before we take anybody in." The word "aristocratic" was carefully avoided, but it was just as carefully suggested. It seemed to Hugh that he was shown a photograph of every fraternity house in the country. "Look," he would be told by his host, "look at that picture to the right of the fireplace. That's our house at Cornell. Isn't it the darb? And look at that one. It's our house at California. Some palace. They've got sunken gardens. I was out there last year to our convention. The boys certainly gave us a swell time." All this through a haze of tobacco smoke and over the noise of a jazz orchestra and the chatter of a dozen similar conversations. Hugh was excited but not really interested. The Nu Deltas invited him to their house every evening, but they were not making a great fuss over him. Perhaps they weren't going to give him a bid.... Well, he'd go some other fraternity. No, he wouldn't, either. Maybe the Nu Delta's would bid him later after he'd done something on the track. Although actual pledging was not supposed to be done until Saturday night, Hugh was receiving what amounted to bids all that day and the night before. Several times groups of fraternity men got into a room, closed the door, and then talked to him until he was almost literally dizzy. He was wise enough not to make any promises. His invariable answer was: "I don't know yet. I won't know until Saturday night." Carl was having similar experiences, but neither of them had been talked to by Nu Deltas. The president of the chapter, Merle Douglas, had said to Hugh in passing, "We've got our eye on you, Carver," and that was all that had been said. Carl did not have even that much consolation. But he wasn't so much interested in Nu Delta as Hugh was; Kappa Zeta or Alpha Sigma would do as well. Both of these fraternities were making violent efforts to get Hugh, but they were paying only polite attention to Carl. On Friday night Hugh was given some advice that he had good reason to remember in later years. At the moment it did not interest him a great deal. He had gone to the Delta Sigma Delta house, not because he had the slightest interest in that fraternity but because the Nu Deltas had not urged him to remain with them. The Delta Sigma Deltas welcomed him enthusiastically and turned him over to their president, Malcolm Graham, a tall serious senior with sandy hair and quiet brown eyes. "Will you come up-stairs with me, Carver? I want to have a talk with you," he said simply. Hugh hesitated. He didn't mind being talked to, but he was heartily sick of being talked at. Graham noticed his hesitation and smiled. "Don't worry; I'm not going to shanghai you, and I'm not going to jaw you to death, either." Hugh smiled in response. "I'm glad of that," he said wearily. "I've been jawed until I don't know anything." "I don't doubt it. Come on; let's get away from this racket." He took Hugh by the arm and led him up-stairs to his own room, which was pleasantly quiet and restful after the noise they had left. When they were both seated in comfortable chairs, Graham began to talk. "I know that you are being tremendously rushed, Carver, and I know that you are going to get a lot of bids, too. I've been watching you all through this week, and you seem dazed and confused to me, more confused even than the average freshman. I think I know the reason." "What is it?" Hugh demanded eagerly. "I understand that your father is a Nu Delt." Hugh nodded. "And you're afraid that they aren't going to bid you." Hugh was startled. "How did you know?" He never thought of denying the statement. "I guessed it. You were obviously worried; you visited other fraternities; and you didn't seem to enjoy the attention that you were getting. I'll tell you right now that you are worrying about nothing; the Nu Delts will bid you. They are just taking you for granted; that's all. You are a legacy, and you have accepted all their invitations to come around. If you had stayed away one night, there would have been a whole delegation rushing around the campus to hunt you up." Hugh relaxed. For the time being he believed Graham implicitly. "Now," Graham went on, "it's the Nu Delts that I want to talk about. Oh, I'm not going to knock them," he hastened to add as Hugh eyed him suspiciously. "I know that you have heard plenty of fraternities knocking each other, but I am sure that you haven't heard any knocking in this house." "No I haven't," Hugh admitted. "Well, you aren't going to, either. The Nu Delts are much more important than we are. They are stronger locally, and they've got a very powerful national organization. But I don't think that you have a very clear notion about the Nu Delts or us or any other fraternity. I heard you talking about fraternities the other night, and, if you will forgive me for being awfully frank, you were talking a lot of nonsense." Hugh leaned forward eagerly. He wasn't offended, and for the first time that week he didn't feel that he was being rushed. "Well, you have a lot of sentimental notions about fraternities that are all bull; that's all. You think that the brothers are really brothers, that they stick by each other and all that sort of thing. You seem to think, too, that the fraternities are democratic. They aren't, or there wouldn't be any fraternities. You don't seem to realize that fraternities are among other things political organizations, fighting each other on the campus for dear life. You've heard fraternities this week knocking each other. Well, about nine tenths of what's been said is either lies or true of every fraternity on the campus. These fraternities aren't working together for the good of Sanford; they're working like hell to ruin each other. You think that you are going to like every man in the fraternity you join. You won't. You'll hate some of them." Hugh was aroused and indignant. "If you feel that way about it, why do you stay in a fraternity?" Graham smiled gravely. "Don't get angry, please. I stay because the fraternity has its virtues as well as its faults. I hated the fraternity the first two years, and I'm afraid that you're going to, too. You see, I had the same sort of notions you have—and it hurt like the devil when they were knocked into a cocked hat. The fraternity is a pleasant club: it gets you into campus activities; and it gives you a social life in college that you can't get without it. It isn't very important to most men after they graduate. Just try to raise some money from the alumni some time, and you'll find out. Some of them remain undergraduates all their lives, and they think that the fraternity is important, but most of them hardly think of it except when they come back to reunions. They're more interested in their clubs or the Masons or something of that sort." "My father hasn't remained an undergraduate all his life, but he's interested in the Nu Delts," Hugh countered vigorously. "I suppose he is," Graham tactfully admitted, "but you'll find that most men aren't. But that doesn't matter. You aren't an alumnus yet; you're a freshman, and a fraternity is a darn nice thing to have around while you are in college. "What I am going to say now," he continued, hesitating, "is pretty touchy, and I hope that you won't be offended. I have been trying to impress on you that the fraternity is most important while you are in college, and, believe me, it's damned important. A fellow has a hell of a time if he gets into the wrong fraternity.... I am sure that you are going to get a lot of bids. Don't choose hastily. Spend to-morrow thinking the various bunches over—and choose the one that has the fellows that you like best, no matter what its standing on the campus is. Be sure that you like the fellows; that is all-important. We want you to come to us. I think that you would fit in here, but I am not going to urge you. Think us over. If you like us, accept our bid; if you don't, go some fraternity where you do like the fellows. And that's my warning about the Nu Delts. Be sure that you like the fellows, or most of them, anyway, before you accept their bid. Have you thought them over?" "No," Hugh admitted, "I haven't." He didn't like Graham's talk; he thought that it was merely very clever rushing. He did Graham an injustice. Graham had been strongly attracted to Hugh and felt sure that he would be making a serious mistake if he joined Nu Delta. Hugh's reaction, however, was natural. He had been rushed in dozens of ingenious ways for a week; he had little reason, therefore, to trust Graham or anybody else. Graham stood up. "I have a feeling, Carver," he said slowly, "that I have flubbed this talk. I am sure that you'll know some day that I was really disinterested and wanted to do my best for you." Hugh was softened—and smiled shyly as he lifted himself out of his chair. "I know you did," he said with more gratitude in his voice than he quite felt, "and I'm very grateful, but I'm so woozy now that I don't know what to think." "I don't wonder. To tell you the truth, I am, too. I haven't got to bed earlier than three o'clock any night this week, and right now I hardly care if we pledge anybody to-morrow night." He continued talking as they walked slowly down the stairs. "One more bit of advice. Don't go anywhere else to-night. Go home to bed, and to-morrow think over what I've told you. And," he added, holding out his hand, "even if you don't come our way, I hope I see a lot of you before the end of the term." Hugh clasped his hand. "You sure will. Thanks a lot. Good night." "Good night." Hugh did go straight to his room and tried to think, but the effort met with little success. He wanted desperately to receive a bid from Nu Delta, and if he didn't—well, nothing else much mattered. Graham's assertion that Nu Delta would bid him no longer brought him any comfort. Why should Graham know what Nu Delta was going to do? Shortly after eleven Carl came in and threw himself wearily into a chair. For a few minutes neither boy said anything; they stared into the fire and frowned. Finally Carl spoke. "I can go Alpha Sig if I want," he said softly. Hugh looked up. "Good!" he exclaimed, honestly pleased. "But I hope we can both go Nu Delt. Did they come right out and bid you?" "Er—no. Not exactly. It's kinda funny." Carl obviously wanted to tell something and didn't know how to go about it. "What do you mean 'funny'? What happened?" Carl shifted around in his chair nervously, filled his pipe, lighted it, and then forgot to smoke. "Well," he began slowly, "Morton—you know that Alpha Sig, Clem Morton, the senior—well, he got me off into a corner to-night and talked to me quite a while, shot me a heavy line of dope. At first I didn't get him at all. He was talking about how they needed new living-room furniture and that sort of thing. Finally I got him. It's like this—well, it's this way: they need money. Oh, hell! Hugh, don't you see? They want money—and they know I've got it. All I've got to do is to let them know that I'll make the chapter a present of a thousand or two after initiation—and I can be an Alpha Sig." Hugh was sitting tensely erect and staring at Carl dazedly. "You mean," he asked slowly, "that they want you to buy your way in?" Carl gave a short, hard laugh. "Well, nobody said anything vulgar like that, Hugh, but you've got the big idea." "The dirty pups! The goddamn stinkers! I hope you told Morton to go straight to hell." Hugh jumped up and stood over Carl excitedly. "Keep your shirt on, Hugh. No, I didn't tell him to go to hell. I didn't say anything, but I know that all I've got to do to get an Alpha Sig bid to-morrow night is to let Morton know that I'd like to make the chapter a present. And I'm not sure—but I think maybe I'll do it." "What!" Hugh cried. "You wouldn't, Carl! You know damn well you wouldn't." He was almost pleading. "Hey, quit yelling and sit down." He got up, shoved Hugh back into his chair, and then sat down again. "I want to make one of the Big Three; I've got to. I don't believe that either Nu Delt or Kappa Zete is going to bid me. See? This is my only chance—and I think that I'm going to take it." He spoke deliberately, staring pensively into the fire. "I don't see how you can even think of such a thing," Hugh said in painful wonderment. "Why, I'd rather never join a fraternity than buy myself into one." "You aren't me." "No, I'm not you. Listen, Carl." Hugh turned in his chair and faced Carl, who kept his eyes on the dying fire. "I'm going to say something awfully mean, but I hope you won't get mad.... You remember you told me once that you weren't a gentleman. I didn't believe you, but if you buy yourself into that—that bunch of—of gutter-pups, I'll—I'll—oh, hell, Carl, I'll have to believe it." He was painfully embarrassed, very much in earnest, and dreadfully unhappy. "I told you that I wasn't a gentleman," Carl said sullenly. "Now you know it." "I don't know anything of the sort. I'll never believe that you could do such a thing." He stood up again and leaned over Carl, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Listen, Carl," he said soberly, earnestly, "I promise that I won't go Nu Delt or any other fraternity unless they take you, too, if you'll promise me not to go Alpha Sig." Carl looked up wonderingly. "What!" he exclaimed. "You'll turn down Nu Delt if they don't bid me, too?" "Yes, Nu Delt or Kappa Zete or any other bunch. Promise me," he urged; "promise me." Carl understood the magnitude of the sacrifice offered, and his eyes became dangerously soft. "God! you're white, Hugh," he whispered huskily, "white as hell. You go Nu Delt if they ask you—but I promise you that I won't go Alpha Sig even if they bid me without pay." He held out his hand, and Hugh gripped it hard. "I promise," he repeated, "on my word of honor." At seven o'clock Saturday evening every freshman who had any reason at all to think that he would get a bid—and some that had no reason—collected in nervous groups in the living-room of the Union. At the stroke of seven they were permitted to move up to a long row of tables which were covered with large envelopes, one for every freshman. They were arranged in alphabetical order, and in an incredibly short time each man found the one addressed to him. Some of the envelopes were stuffed with cards, each containing the freshman's name and the name of the fraternity bidding him; some of them contained only one or two cards—and some of them were empty. The boys who drew empty envelopes instantly left the Union without a word to anybody; the others tried to find a free space where they could scan their cards unobserved. They were all wildly excited and nervous. One glance at the cards, and their faces either lighted with joy or went white with disappointment. Hugh found ten cards in his envelope—and one of them had Nu Delta written on it. His heart leaped; for a moment he thought that he was going to cry. Then he rushed around the Union looking for Carl. He found him staring at a fan of cards, which he was holding like a hand of bridge. "What luck?" Hugh cried. Carl handed him the cards. "Lamp those," he said, "and then explain. They've got me stopped." He had thirteen bids, one from every fraternity in good standing, including the so-called Big Three. When Hugh saw the Nu Delta card he yelled with delight. "I got a Nu Delt, too." His voice was trembling with excitement. "You'll go with me, won't you?" "Of course, Hugh. But I don't understand." "Oh, what's the dif? Let's go." He tucked his arm in Carl's, and the two of them passed out of the Union on their way to the Nu Delta house. Later both of them understood. Carl's good looks, his excellent clothes, his money, and the fact that he had been to an expensive preparatory school were enough to insure him plenty of bids even if he had been considerably less of a gentleman than he was. Already the campus was ringing with shouts as freshmen entered fraternity houses, each freshman being required to report at once to the fraternity whose bid he was accepting. When Carl and Hugh walked up the Nu Delta steps, they were seized by waiting upper-classmen and rushed into the living-room, where they were received with loud cheers, slapped on the back, and passed around the room, each upper-classman shaking hands with them so vigorously that their hands hurt for an hour afterward. What pleasant pain! Each new arrival was similarly received, but the excitement did not last long. Both the freshmen and the upper-classmen were too tired to keep the enthusiasm at the proper pitch. At nine o'clock the freshmen were sent home with orders to report the next evening at eight. Carl and Hugh, proudly conscious of the pledge buttons in the lapels of their coats, walked slowly across the campus, spent and weary, but exquisitely happy. "They bid me on account of you," Carl said softly. "They didn't think they could get you unless they asked me, too." "No," Hugh replied, "you're wrong. They took you for yourself. They knew you would go where I did, and they were sure that I would go their way." Hugh was quite right. The Nu Deltas had felt sure of both of them and had not rushed them harder because they were too busy to waste any time on certainties. Carl stopped suddenly. "God, Hugh," he exclaimed. "Just suppose I had offered the Alpha Sigs that cash. God!" "Aren't you glad you didn't?" Hugh asked happily. "Glad? Glad? Boy, I'm bug-house. And," he added softly, "I know the lad I've got to thank." "Aw, go to hell." <hr style='width: 45%;' /> The initiation season lasted two weeks, and the neophytes found that the dormitory initiations had been merely child's play. They had to account for every hour, and except for a brief time allowed every day for studying, they were kept busy making asses of themselves for the delectation of the upper-classmen. In the Nu Delta house a freshman had to be on guard every hour of the day up to midnight. He was forced to dress himself in some outlandish costume, the more outlandish the better, and announce every one who entered or left the house. "Mr. Standish entering," he would bawl, or, "Mr. Kerwin leaving." If he bawled too loudly, he was paddled; if he didn't bawl loudly enough, he was paddled; and if there was no fault to be found with his bawling; he was paddled anyway. Every freshman had to supply his own paddle, a broad, stout oak affair sold at the cooperative store at a handsome profit. If a freshman reported for duty one minute late, he was paddled; if he reported one minute early, he was paddled. There was no end to the paddling. "Assume the angle," an upper-classman would roar. The unfortunate freshman then humbly bent forward, gripped his ankles with his hands—and waited. The worst always happened. The upper-classman brought the paddle down with a resounding whack on the seat of the freshman's trousers. "Does it hurt?" "Yes, sir." Another resounding whack. " What?" "No—no, sir." "Oh, well, if it doesn't hurt, I might as well give you another one." And he gave him another one. A freshman was paddled if he forgot to say "sir" to an upper-classman; he was paddled if he neglected to touch the floor with his fingers every time he passed through a door in the fraternity house; he was paddled if he laughed when an upper-classman told a joke, and he was paddled if he didn't laugh; he was paddled if he failed to return from an errand in an inconceivably short time: he was paddled for every and no reason, but mainly because the upper-classmen, the sophomores particularly, got boundless delight out of doing the paddling. Every night a freshman stood on the roof of the Nu Delta house and announced the time every fifteen seconds. "One minute and fifteen seconds after nine, and all's well in the halls of Nu Delta; one minute and thirty seconds after nine, and all's well in the halls of Nu Delta; one minute and forty-five seconds after nine, and all's well in the halls of Nu Delta," and so on for an hour. Then he was relieved by another freshman, who took up the chant. Nightly the freshmen had to entertain the upper-classmen, and if the entertainment wasn't satisfactory, as it never was, the entertainers were paddled. They had to run races, shoving pennies across the floor with their noses. The winner was paddled for going too fast—"Didn't he have any sense of sportsmanship?"—and the loser was paddled for going too slow. Most of the freshmen lost skin off their noses and foreheads; all of them shivered at the sight of a paddle. By the end of the first week they were whispering to each other how many blisters they had on their buttocks. It was a bitterly cold night in late February when the Nu Deltas took the freshmen for their "walk." They drove in automobiles fifteen miles into the country and then left the freshmen to walk back. It was four o'clock in the morning when the miserable freshmen reached the campus, half frozen, unutterably weary, but thankful that the end of the initiation was at hand. Hugh was thankful for another thing; the Nu Deltas did not brand. He had noticed several men in the swimming-pool with tiny Greek letters branded on their chests or thighs. The branded ones seemed proud of their permanent insignia, but the idea of a fraternity branding its members like beef-cattle was repugnant to Hugh. He told Carl that he was darn glad the Nu Deltas were above that sort of thing, and, surprisingly, Carl agreed with him. The next night they were formally initiated. The Nu Delta house seemed strangely quiet; levity was strictly prohibited. The freshmen were given white robes such as the upper-classmen were wearing, the president excepted, who wore a really handsome robe of blue and silver. Then they marched up-stairs to the "goat room." Once there, the president mounted a dais; a "brother" stood on each side of him. Hugh was so much impressed by the ritual, the black hangings of the room, the fraternity seal over the dais, the ornate chandelier, the long speeches of the president and his assistants, that he failed to notice that many of the brothers were openly bored. Eventually each freshman was led forward by an upper-classman. He knelt on the lowest step of the dais and repeated after the president the oath of allegiance. Then one of the assisting brothers whispered to him the password and taught him the "grip," a secret and elaborate method of shaking hands, while the other pinned the jeweled pin to his vest. When each freshman had been received into the fraternity, the entire chapter marched in twos down-stairs, singing the fraternity song. The initiation was over; Carl and Hugh were Nu Delts. The whole ceremony had moved Hugh deeply, so deeply that he had hardly been able to repeat the oath after the president. He thought the ritual very beautiful, more beautiful even than the Easter service at church. He left the Nu Delta house that night feeling a deeper loyalty for the fraternity than he had words to express. He and Carl walked back to Surrey 19 in silence. Neither was capable of speech, though both of them wanted to give expression to their emotion in some way. They reached their room. "Well," said Hugh shyly, "I guess I'll go to bed." "Me, too." Then Carl moved hesitatingly to where Hugh was standing. He held out his hand and grinned, but his eyes were serious. "Good night—brother." Their hands met in the sacred grip. "Good night—brother."   <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/116-tb.jpg" alt="'DANCE, SALOME!'" width-obs="561" /> "dance, salome!" </div>   <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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