e for the Nu Delta
House. He wondered what had become of Morse, the homesick freshman.
Poor Morse.... And the bull sessions he had sat in in old Surrey. He
had learned a lot from them, a whole lot....

The chapel where he had slept and surreptitiously eaten doughnuts and
read "The Sanford News" suddenly became a holy building, the building
that housed the soul of Sanford.... He knew that he was sentimental, that
he was investing buildings with a greater significance than they had in
their own right, but he continued to dream over the last four years and
to find a melancholy beauty in his own sentimentality. If it hadn't
been for Cynthia, he would have been perfectly happy.

Soon the examinations were over, and the underclassmen began to
depart. Good-by to all his friends who were not seniors. Good-by to
Norry Parker. "Thanks for the congratulations, old man. Sorry I can't
visit you this summer. Can't you spend a month with me on the farm...?"
Good-by to his fraternity brothers except the few left in his own
delegation. "Good-by, old man, good-by.... Sure, I'll see you next year
at the reunion." Good-by.... Good-by....

Sad, this business of saying good-by, damn sad. Gee, how a fellow would
miss all the good old eggs he had walked with and drunk with and bulled
with these past years. Good eggs, all of them--damn good eggs.... God!
a fellow couldn't appreciate college until he was about to leave it.
Oh, for a chance to live those four years over again. "Would I live
them differently? I'll say I would."

Good-by, boyhood.... Commencement was coming. Hugh hadn't thought
before of what that word meant. Commencement! The beginning. What was
he going to do with this commencement of his into life? Old Pudge was
going to law school and so was Jack Lawrence. George Winsor was going
to medical school. But what was he going to do? He felt so pathetically
unprepared. And then there was Cynthia.... What was he going to do
about her? She rarely left his mind. How could he tackle life when he
couldn't solve the problem she presented? It was like trying to run a
hundred against fast men when a fellow had only begun to train.

Henley had advised him to take a year or so at Harvard if his father
proved willing, and his father was more than willing, even eager. He
guessed that he'd take at least a year in Cambridge. Perhaps he could
find himself in that year. Maybe he could learn to write. He hoped to
God he could.

* *