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by Franks, "I've won this game, but I feel as if I never want to play
another. You're all right--you're a rubber ball, and somehow it suits
you, but I'm sick of adapting myself to the local snobbishness of this
corner of the world. I want to go where people aren't barred because of
the color of their neckties and the roll of their coats."
"You can't, Tom," argued Amory, as they rolled along through the
scattering night; "wherever you go now you'll always unconsciously apply
these standards of 'having it' or 'lacking it.' For better or worse
we've stamped you; you're a Princeton type!"
"Well, then," complained Tom, his cracked voice rising plaintively, "why
do I have to come back at all? I've learned all that Princeton has to
offer. Two years more of mere pedantry and lying around a club aren't
going to help. They're just going to disorganize me, conventionalize me
completely. Even now I'm so spineless that I wonder how I get away with
"Oh, but you're missing the real point, Tom," Amory interrupted. "You've
just had your eyes opened to the snobbishness of the world in a rather
abrupt manner. Princeton invariably gives the thoughtful man a social
"You consider you taught me that, don't you?" he asked quizzically,
eying Amory in the half dark.
Amory laughed quietly.
"Sometimes," he said slowly, "I think you're my bad angel. I might have
been a pretty fair poet."
"Come on, that's rather hard. You chose to come to an Eastern college.
Either your eyes were opened to the mean scrambling quality of people,
or you'd have gone through blind, and you'd hate to have done that--been
like Marty Kaye."
"Yes," he agreed, "you're right. I wouldn't have liked it. Still, it's
hard to be made a cynic at twenty."
"I was born one," Amory murmured. "I'm a cynical idealist." He paused
and wondered if that meant anything.
They reached the sleeping school of Lawrenceville, and turned to ride
"It's good, this ride, isn't it?" Tom said presently.
"Yes; it's a good finish, it's knock-out; everything's good to-night.
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