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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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So
the
weeks
passed
and
March
came
and
the
clay
feet
that
Amory
looked
for
failed
to
appear
.
About
a
hundred
juniors
and
seniors
resigned
from
their
clubs
in
a
final
fury
of
righteousness
,
and
the
clubs
in
helplessness
turned
upon
Burne
their
finest
weapon
:
ridicule
.
Every
one
who
knew
him
liked
him
--
but
what
he
stood
for
(
and
he
began
to
stand
for
more
all
the
time
)
came
under
the
lash
of
many
tongues
,
until
a
frailer
man
than
he
would
have
been
snowed
under
.
"
Do
n't
you
mind
losing
prestige
?
"
asked
Amory
one
night
.
They
had
taken
to
exchanging
calls
several
times
a
week
.
"
Of
course
I
do
n't
.
What
's
prestige
,
at
best
?
"
"
Some
people
say
that
you
're
just
a
rather
original
politician
.
"
He
roared
with
laughter
.
"
That
's
what
Fred
Sloane
told
me
to-day
.
I
suppose
I
have
it
coming
.
"
One
afternoon
they
dipped
into
a
subject
that
had
interested
Amory
for
a
long
time
--
the
matter
of
the
bearing
of
physical
attributes
on
a
man
's
make-up
.
Burne
had
gone
into
the
biology
of
this
,
and
then
:
"
Of
course
health
counts
--
a
healthy
man
has
twice
the
chance
of
being
good
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
do
n't
agree
with
you
--
I
do
n't
believe
in
'm
uscular
Christianity
.
'
"
