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Table of contents
AMORY, SON OF BEATRICE
SPIRES AND GARGOYLES
THE EGOTIST CONSIDERS
NARCISSUS OFF DUTY
THE DEBUTANTE
EXPERIMENTS IN CONVALESCENCE
YOUNG IRONY
THE SUPERCILIOUS SACRIFICE
THE EGOTIST BECOMES A PERSONAGE

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 

it." 

 

"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 

sense." 

 

"You consider you taught me that, don't you?" he asked quizzically, 

eying Amory in the half dark. 

 

Amory laughed quietly. 

 

"Didn't I?" 

 

"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 

back. 

 

"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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