prep school."

Amory agreed.

"Lot of pep, though," he insisted. "I wouldn't have gone to Yale for a
million."

"Me either."

"You going out for anything?" inquired Amory of the elder brother.

"Not me--Burne here is going out for the Prince--the Daily Princetonian,
you know."

"Yes, I know."

"You going out for anything?"

"Why--yes. I'm going to take a whack at freshman football."

"Play at St. Regis's?"

"Some," admitted Amory depreciatingly, "but I'm getting so damned thin."

"You're not thin."

"Well, I used to be stocky last fall."

"Oh!"

After supper they attended the movies, where Amory was fascinated by the
glib comments of a man in front of him, as well as by the wild yelling
and shouting.

"Yoho!"

"Oh, honey-baby--you're so big and strong, but oh, so gentle!"

"Clinch!"

"Oh, Clinch!"

"Kiss her, kiss 'at lady, quick!"

"Oh-h-h--!"

A group began whistling "By the Sea," and the audience took it up
noisily. This was followed by an indistinguishable song that included
much stamping and then by an endless, incoherent dirge.

"Oh-h-h-h-h
She works in a Jam Factoree
And--that-may-be-all-right
But you can't-fool-me
For I know--DAMN--WELL
That she DON'T-make-jam-all-night!
Oh-h-h-h!"

As they pushed out, giving and receiving curious impersonal glances,
Amory decided that he liked the movies, wanted to enjoy them as the row
of upper classmen in front had enjoyed them, with their arms along the
backs of the seats, their comments Gaelic and caustic, their attitude a
mixture of critical wit and tolerant amusement.

"Want a sundae--I mean a jigger?" asked Kerry.

"Sure."

They suppered heavily and then, still sauntering, eased back to 12.

"Wonderful night."

"It's a whiz."

"You men going to unpack?"

"Guess so. Come on, Burne."

Amory decided to sit for a while on the front steps, so he bade them
good night.

The great tapestries of trees had darkened to ghosts back at the last
edge of twilight. The early moon had drenched the arches with pale blue,
and, weaving over the night, in and out of the gossamer rifts of moon,
swept a song, a song with more than a hint of sadness, infinitely
transient, infinitely regretful.

He remembered that an alumnus of the nineties had told him of one of
Booth Tarkington's amusements: standing in mid-campus in the small hours
and singing tenor songs to the stars, arousing mingled emotions in the
couched un