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After
the
football
season
he
slumped
into
dreamy
content
.
The
night
of
the
pre-holiday
dance
he
slipped
away
and
went
early
to
bed
for
the
pleasure
of
hearing
the
violin
music
cross
the
grass
and
come
surging
in
at
his
window
.
Many
nights
he
lay
there
dreaming
awake
of
secret
cafes
in
Mont
Martre
,
where
ivory
women
delved
in
romantic
mysteries
with
diplomats
and
soldiers
of
fortune
,
while
orchestras
played
Hungarian
waltzes
and
the
air
was
thick
and
exotic
with
intrigue
and
moonlight
and
adventure
.
In
the
spring
he
read
"
L'Allegro
,
"
by
request
,
and
was
inspired
to
lyrical
outpourings
on
the
subject
of
Arcady
and
the
pipes
of
Pan
.
He
moved
his
bed
so
that
the
sun
would
wake
him
at
dawn
that
he
might
dress
and
go
out
to
the
archaic
swing
that
hung
from
an
apple-tree
near
the
sixth-form
house
.
Seating
himself
in
this
he
would
pump
higher
and
higher
until
he
got
the
effect
of
swinging
into
the
wide
air
,
into
a
fairyland
of
piping
satyrs
and
nymphs
with
the
faces
of
fair-haired
girls
he
passed
in
the
streets
of
Eastchester
.
As
the
swing
reached
its
highest
point
,
Arcady
really
lay
just
over
the
brow
of
a
certain
hill
,
where
the
brown
road
dwindled
out
of
sight
in
a
golden
dot
.
He
read
voluminously
all
spring
,
the
beginning
of
his
eighteenth
year
:
"
The
Gentleman
from
Indiana
,
"
"
The
New
Arabian
Nights
,
"
"
The
Morals
of
Marcus
Ordeyne
,
"
"
The
Man
Who
Was
Thursday
,
"
which
he
liked
without
understanding
;
"
Stover
at
Yale
,
"
that
became
somewhat
of
a
text-book
;
"
Dombey
and
Son
,
"
because
he
thought
he
really
should
read
better
stuff
;
Robert
Chambers
,
David
Graham
Phillips
,
and
E.
Phillips
Oppenheim
complete
,
and
a
scattering
of
Tennyson
and
Kipling
.
Of
all
his
class
work
only
"
L'Allegro
"
and
some
quality
of
rigid
clarity
in
solid
geometry
stirred
his
languid
interest
.
As
June
drew
near
,
he
felt
the
need
of
conversation
to
formulate
his
own
ideas
,
and
,
to
his
surprise
,
found
a
co-philosopher
in
Rahill
,
the
president
of
the
sixth
form
.
In
many
a
talk
,
on
the
highroad
or
lying
belly-down
along
the
edge
of
the
baseball
diamond
,
or
late
at
night
with
their
cigarettes
glowing
in
the
dark
,
they
threshed
out
the
questions
of
school
,
and
there
was
developed
the
term
"
slicker
.
"
"
Got
tobacco
?
"
whispered
Rahill
one
night
,
putting
his
head
inside
the
door
five
minutes
after
lights
.
"
Sure
.
"
"
I
'm
coming
in
.
"
"
Take
a
couple
of
pillows
and
lie
in
the
window-seat
,
why
do
n't
you
.
"
Amory
sat
up
in
bed
and
lit
a
cigarette
while
Rahill
settled
for
a
conversation
.
Rahill
's
favorite
subject
was
the
respective
futures
of
the
sixth
form
,
and
Amory
never
tired
of
outlining
them
for
his
benefit
.
"
Ted
Converse
?
'
At
's
easy
.
He
'll
fail
his
exams
,
tutor
all
summer
at
Harstrum
's
,
get
into
Sheff
with
about
four
conditions
,
and
flunk
out
in
the
middle
of
the
freshman
year
.
Then
he
'll
go
back
West
and
raise
hell
for
a
year
or
so
;
finally
his
father
will
make
him
go
into
the
paint
business
.
He
'll
marry
and
have
four
sons
,
all
bone
heads
.
He
'll
always
think
St.
Regis
's
spoiled
him
,
so
he
'll
send
his
sons
to
day
school
in
Portland
.
He
'll
die
of
locomotor
ataxia
when
he
's
forty-one
,
and
his
wife
will
give
a
baptizing
stand
or
whatever
you
call
it
to
the
Presbyterian
Church
,
with
his
name
on
it
--
"
