The Plastic Age · Chapter 16 (2/2)

“Yes, that’s what I mean; that’s what I was trying to get at.” For a minute Slade hesitated; he wasn’t used to giving expression to his confused emotions, and he didn’t know how to go about it. “I’d⁠—I’d like to be like you; that’s it. I⁠—I didn’t want you to be like me.⁠ ⁠… Those women are awful bags. Anything might happen.”

“Why didn’t you stop Carl Peters, too, then?”

“Peters knows his way about. He can take care of himself. You’re different, though.⁠ ⁠… You’ve never been drunk before, have you?”

“No. No, I never have.” Hugh’s irritation was all gone. He was touched, deeply touched, by Slade’s clumsy admiration, and he felt weak, emotionally exhausted after his little spree. “It’s awfully good of you to⁠—to think of me that way. I’m⁠—I’m glad you stopped me.”

Slade stood up. He felt that he had better be going. He couldn’t tell Hugh how much he liked and admired him, how much he envied him. He was altogether sentimental about the boy, entirely devoted to him. He had wanted to talk to Hugh more than Hugh had wanted to talk to him, but he had never felt that he had anything to offer that could possibly interest Hugh. It was a strange situation; the hero had put the hero worshiper on a high, white marble pedestal.

He moved toward the door. “So long,” he said as casually as he could.

Hugh jumped up and rushed to him. “I’m awfully grateful to you, Harry,” he said impulsively. “It was damn white of you. I⁠—I don’t know how to thank you.” He held out his hand.

Slade gripped it for a moment, and then, muttering another “So long,” passed out of the door.

Hugh was more confused than ever and grew steadily more confused as the days passed. He couldn’t understand why Slade, frankly unchaste himself, should consider his chastity so important. He was genuinely glad that Slade had rescued him, genuinely grateful, but his confusion about all things sexual was more confounded. The strangest thing was that when he told Carl about Slade’s talk, Carl seemed to understand perfectly, though he never offered a satisfactory explanation.

“I know how he feels,” Carl said, “and I’m awfully glad he butted in and pulled you away. I’d hate to see you messing around with bags like that myself, and if I hadn’t been drunk I wouldn’t have let you. I’m more grateful to him than you are. Gee! I’d never have forgiven myself,” he concluded fervently.

Just when the Incident was beginning to occupy less of Hugh’s thoughts, it was suddenly brought back with a crash. He came home from the gymnasium one afternoon to find Carl seated at his desk writing. He looked up when Hugh came in, tore the paper into fragments, and tossed them info the wastebasket.

“Guess I’d better tell you,” he said briefly. “I was just writing a note to you.”

“To me? Why?”

Carl pointed to his suitcase standing by the center-table.

“That’s why.”

“Going away on a party?”

“My trunk left an hour ago. I’m going away for good.” Carl’s voice was husky, and he spoke with an obvious effort.

Hugh walked quickly to the desk. “Why, old man, what’s the matter? Anything wrong with your mother? You’re not sick, are you?”

Carl laughed, briefly, bitterly. “Yes, I’m sick all right. I’m sick.”

Hugh, worried, looked at him seriously. “Why, what’s the matter? I didn’t know that you weren’t feeling well.”

Carl looked at the rug and muttered, “You remember those rats we picked up in Hastings?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I know of seven fellows they’ve sent home.”

“What!” Hugh cried, his eyes wide with horror. “You don’t mean that you⁠—that you⁠—”

“I mean exactly that,” Carl replied in a low, flat voice. He rose and moved to the other side of the room. “I mean exactly that; and Doc Conners agrees with me,” he added sarcastically. Then more softly, “He’s got to tell the dean. That’s why I’m going home.”

Hugh was swept simultaneously by revulsion and sympathy. “God, I’m sorry,” he exclaimed. “Oh, Carl, I’m so damn sorry.”

Carl was standing by Hugh’s desk, his hands clenched, his lips compressed. “Keep my junk,” he said unevenly, “and sell anything you want to if you live in the house next year.”

“But you’ll be back?”

“No, I won’t come back⁠—I won’t come back.” He was having a hard time to keep back the tears and bit his trembling lip mercilessly. “Oh, Hugh,” he suddenly cried, “what will my mother say?”

Hugh was deeply distressed, but he was startled by that “my mother.” It was the first time he had ever heard Carl speak of his mother except as the “old lady.”

“She will understand,” he said soothingly.

“How can she? How can she? God, Hugh, God!” He buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly. Hugh put his arm around his shoulder and tried to comfort him, and in a few minutes Carl was in control of himself again. He dried his eyes with his handkerchief.

“What a fish I am!” he said, trying to grin. “A goddamn fish.” He looked at his watch. “Hell, I’ve got to be going if I’m going to make the five fifteen,” He picked up his suitcase and held out his free hand. “There’s something I want to say to you, Hugh, but I guess I’ll write it. Please don’t come to the train with me.” He gripped Hugh’s hand hard for an instant and then was out of the door and down the hall before Hugh had time to say anything.

Two days afterward the letter came. The customary “Dear brother” and “Fraternally yours” were omitted.

Dear Hugh:

I’ve thought of letters yards long but I’m not going to write them. I just want to say that you are the finest thing that ever happened to me outside of my mother, and I respect you more than any fellow I’ve ever known. I’m ashamed because I started you drinking and I hope you’ll stop it. I feel toward you the way Harry Slade does, only more I guess. You’ve done an awful lot for me.

I want to ask a favor of you. Please leave women alone. Keep straight, please. You don’t know how much I want you to do that.

Thanks for all you’ve done for me.

Hugh’s eyes filled with tears when he read that letter. Carl seemed a tragic figure to him, and he missed him dreadfully. Poor old Carl! What hell it must have been to tell his mother! “And he wants me to keep straight. By God, I will.⁠ ⁠… I’ll try to, anyhow.”