From the day of his arrival Webster University felt the presence of Hugo
Danner. Classes, football practice, hazing, fraternity scouting began on
that morning with a feverish and good-natured hurly-burly that, for a
time, completely bewildered him. Hugo participated in everything. He
went to the classroom with pleasure. It was never difficult for him to
learn and never easier than in those first few weeks. The professors he
had known (and he reluctantly included his own father) were dry-as-dust
individuals who had none of the humanities. And at least some of the
professors at Webster were brilliant, urbane, capable of all
understanding. Their lectures were like tonic to Hugo.
The number of his friends grew with amazing rapidity. It seemed that he
could not cross the campus without being hailed by a member of the
football team and presented to another student. The Psi Deltas saw to it
that he met the entire personnel of their chapter at Webster. Other
fraternities looked at him with covetous eyes, but Lefty Foresman, who
was chairman of the membership committee, let it be known that the Psi
Deltas had marked Hugo for their own. And no one refused their bid.
On the second Monday after college opened, Hugo went to the class
elections and found to his astonishment that he received twenty-eight
votes for president. A boy from a large preparatory school was elected,
but twenty-eight votes spoke well for the reputation he had gained in
that short time. On that day, too, he learned the class customs.
Freshmen had to wear black caps, black shoes and socks and ties. They
were not allowed to walk on the grass or to ride bicycles. The ancient
cannon in the center of the class square was defended annually by the
sophomores, and its theft was always attempted by the freshmen. No
entering class had stolen it in eight years. Those things amused Hugo.
They gave him an intimate feeling of belonging to his school. He wrote
to his parents about them.
Dean Aiken, the newly elected president of the freshman class,
approached Hugo on the matter of the cannon. "We want a gang of good
husky boys to pull it up some night and take it away. Are you with us?"
"Sure."
Left to his own considerations, Hugo recalled his promise and walked
across the campus with the object of studying the cannon. It was a
medium-sized piece of Revolutionary War vintage. It stood directly in
the rear of Webster Hall, and while Hugo regarded it, he noticed that
two sophomores remained in the vicinity. He knew that guard, changed
every two hours, would be on duty day and night until Christmas was
safely passed. Well, the cannon was secure. It couldn't be rolled away.
The theft of it would require first a free-for-all with the sophomores
and after a definite victory a mob assault of the gun. Hugo walked
closer to it.
"Off the grass, freshman!"
He wheeled obediently. One of the guards approached him. "Get off the
grass and stay off and don't look at that cannon with longing. It isn't
healthy for young freshmen."
Hugo grinned. "All right, fella. But you better keep a double guard on
that thing while I want it."
Two nights later, during a heavy rain that had begun after the fall of
dark, Hugo clad himself in a slicker and moved vaguely into the night.
Presently he reached the cannon yard, and in the shelter of an arch he
saw the sophomore guards. They smoked cigarettes, and one of them sang
softly. Day and night a pair of conscripted sentries kept watchful eyes
on the gun. A shout from either of them would bring the whole class
tumbling from its slumber in a very few moments. Hugo moved out of their
vision. The campus was empty.
He rounded Webster Hall, the mud sucking softly under his feet and the
rain dampening his face. From beneath his coat he took a flare and
lighted the fuse. He heard the two sophomores running toward it in the
thick murk. When they were very close, he stepped on to the stone
flagging, looked up into the cloudy sky, gathered himself, and leaped
over the three stories of Webster Hall. He landed with a loud thud ten
feet from the cannon. When the sophomores returned, after extinguishing
the flare, their cherished symbol of authority had vanished.
There was din on the campus. First the loud cries of two voices. Then
the screech of raised windows, the babble of more voices, and the rush
of feet that came with new gusts of rain. Flash-lights pierced the
gloom. Where the cannon had been, a hundred and then two hundred figures
gathered, swirled, organized search-parties, built a fire. Dawn came,
and the cannon was still missing. The clouds lifted. In the wan light
some one pointed up. There, on the roof of Webster Hall, with the
numerals of the freshman class painted on its muzzle, was the old
weapon. Arms stretched. An angry, incredulous hum waxed to a steady
pitch and waned as the sophomores dispersed.
In the morning, theory ran rife. The freshmen were tight-lipped,
pretending knowledge where they had none, exulting secretly. Dean Aiken
was kidnapped at noon and given a third degree, which extorted no
information. The theft of the cannon and its elevation to the roof of
the hall entered the annals of Webster legend. And Hugo, watching the
laborious task of its removal from the roof, seemed merely as pleased
and as mystified as the other freshmen.
So the autumn commenced. The first football game was played and Hugo
made a touchdown. He made another in the second game. They took him to
New York in November for the dinner that was to celebrate the entrance
of a new chapter to Psi Delta.
His fraternity had hired a private car. As soon as the college towers
vanished, the entertainment committee took over the party. Glasses were
filled with whisky and passed by a Negro porter. Hugo took his with a
feeling of nervousness and of excited anticipation. The coach had given
him permission to break training--advised it, in fact. And Hugo had
never tasted liquor. He watched the others, holding his glass gingerly.
They swallowed their drinks, took more. The effect did not seem to be
great. He smelled the whisky, and the smell revolted him.
"Drink up, Danner!"
"Never use the stuff. I'm afraid it'll throw me."
"Not you. Come on! Bottoms up!"
It ran into his throat, hot and steaming. He swallowed a thousand
needles and knew the warmth of it in his stomach. They gave another
glass to him and then a third. Some of the brothers were playing cards.
Hugo watched them. He perceived that his feet were loose on their ankles
and that his shoulders lurched. It would not do to lose control of
himself, he thought. For another man, it might be safe. Not for him. He
repeated the thought inanely. Some one took his arm.
"Nice work in the game last week. Pretty."
"Thanks."
"Woodie says you're the best man on the team. Glad you went Psi Delt.
Best house on the campus. Great school, Webster. You'll love it."
"Sure," Hugo said.
The railroad coach was twisting and writhing peculiarly. Hugo suddenly
wanted to be in the air. He hastened to the platform of the car and
stood on it, squinting his eyes at the countryside. When they reached
the Grand Central Terminal he was cured of his faintness. They rode to
the theatre in an omnibus and saw the matinée of a musical show. Hugo
had never realized that so many pretty girls could be gathered together
in one place. Their scant, glittering costumes flashed in his face. He
wanted them. Between the acts the fraternity repaired in a body to the
lavatory and drank whisky from bottles.
Hugo began to feel that he was living at last. He was among men,
sophisticated men, and learning to be like them. Nothing like the
_camaraderie_, the show, the liquor, in Indian Creek. He was wearing the
suit that Lefty Foresman had chosen for him. He felt well dressed, cool,
capable. He was intensely well disposed toward his companions. When the
show was over, he stood in the bright lights, momentarily depressed by
the disappearance of the long file of girls. Then he shouldered among
his companions and went out of the theatre riotously.
Two long tables were drawn up at the Raven, a restaurant famous for its
roast meats, its beer, and its lack of scruples about the behaviour of
its guests. The Psi Deltas took their places at the tables. The
dining-room they occupied was private. Hugo saw as if in a dream the
long rows of silverware, the dishes of celery and olives, and the ranks
of shining glasses. They sat. Waiters wound their way among them. There
was a song. The toastmaster, a New York executive who had graduated from
Webster twenty years before, understood the temper of his charge. He was
witty, ribald, genial.
He made a speech, but not too long a speech. He called on the president
of a bank, who rose totteringly and undid the toastmaster's good offices
by making too long a speech. Its reiterated "dear old Websters" were
finally lost in the ring and tinkle of glassware and cutlery.
At the end of the long meal Hugo realized that his being had undergone
change. Objects approached and receded before his vision. The voice of
the man sitting beside him came to his ears as if through water. His
mind continually turned upon itself in a sort of infatuated examination.
His attention could not be held even on his own words. He decided that
he was feverish. Then some one said: "Well, Danner, how do you like
being drunk?"
"Drunk?"
"Sure. You aren't going to tell me you're sober, are you?"
When the speaker had gone, Hugo realized that it was Chuck. There had
been no feeling of recognition. "I'm drunk!" he said.
"Some one give Danner a drink. He has illusions."
"Drunk! Why, this man isn't drunk. It's monstrous. He has a weakened
spine, that's all."
"I'm drunk," Hugo repeated. He knew then what it was to be drunk. The
toastmaster was rising again. Hugo saw it dimly.
"Fellows!" A fork banged on a glass. "Fellows!" There was a slow
increase in silence. "Fellows! It's eleven o'clock now. And I have a
surprise for you."
"Surprise! Hey, guys, shut up for the surprise!"
"Fellows! What I was going to say is this: the girls from the show we
saw this afternoon are coming over here--all thirty of 'em. We're going
up to my house for a real party. And the lid'll be off. Anything
goes--only anybody that fights gets thrown out straight off without an
argument. Are you on?"
The announcement was greeted by a stunned quiet which grew into a bellow
of approval. Plates and glasses were thrown on the floor. Lefty leaped
on to the table and performed a dance. The proprietor came in, looked,
and left hastily, and then the girls arrived.
They came through the door, after a moment of reluctant hesitation, like
a flood of brightly colored water. They sat down in the laps of the
boys, on chairs, on the edge of the disarrayed tables. They were served
with innumerable drinks as rapidly as the liquor could be brought. They
were working, that night, for the ten dollars promised to each one. But
they were working with college boys, which was a rest from the stream of
affluent and paunchy males who made their usual escort. Their gaiety was
better than assumed.
Hugo had never seen such a party or dreamed of one. His vision was
cleared instantly of its cobwebs. He saw three boys seize one girl and
turn her heels over head. A piano was moved in. She jumped up and
started dancing on the table. Then there was a voice at his side.
"Hello, good-looking. I could use that drink if you can spare it."
Hugo looked at the girl. She had brown hair that had been curled. Her
lips and cheeks were heavily rouged and the corners of her mouth turned
down in a sort of petulance or fatigue. But she was pretty. And her
body, showing whitely above her evening dress, was creamy and warm. He
gave the drink to her. She sat in his lap.
"Gosh," he whispered. She laughed.
"I saw her first," some one said, pulling at the girl's arm.
"Go 'way," Hugo shouted. He pushed the other from them. "What's your
name?"
"Bessie. What's yours?"
"Hugo."
The girl accepted two glasses from a waiter. They drained them, looking
at each other over the rims. "Got any money, Hugo?"
Hugo had. He carried on his person the total of his cash assets. Some
fifty dollars. "Sure. I have fifty dollars," he answered.
He felt her red lips against his ear. "Let's you and me duck this party
and have a little one of our own. I've got an apartment not far from
here."