The college granted a vacation of three days between terms, but Hugh did
not go home, nor did many of the other undergraduates. There was
excitement in the air; the college was beginning to stew and boil again.
Fraternity rushing was scheduled for the second week of the new term.
The administration strictly prohibited the rushing of freshmen the first
term; and, in general, the fraternities respected the rule. True, the
fraternity men were constantly visiting eligible freshmen, chatting with
them, discussing everything with them except fraternities. That subject
was barred.
Hugh and Carl received a great many calls from upper-classmen the first
term, and Hugh had been astonished at Carl's reticence and silence.
Carl, the flippant, the voluble, the "wise-cracker," lost his tongue the
minute a man wearing a fraternity pin entered the room. Hugh was forced
to entertain the all-important guest. Carl never explained how much he
wanted to make a good fraternity, not any fraternity, only a _good_ one;
nor did he explain that his secret studying the first term had been
inspired by his eagerness to be completely eligible. A good fraternity
would put the seal of aristocracy on him; it would mean everything to
the "old lady."
For the first three nights of the rushing season the fraternities held
open house for all freshmen, but during the last three nights no
freshman was supposed to enter a fraternity house unless Invited.
The first three nights found the freshmen traveling in scared groups
from fraternity house to fraternity house, sticking close together
unless rather vigorously pried apart by their hosts. Everybody was
introduced to everybody else; everybody tried rather hopelessly to make
conversation, and nearly everybody smoked too much, partly because they
were nervous and partly because the "smokes" were free.
It was the last three nights that counted. Both Hugh and Carl received
invitations from most of the fraternities, and they stuck together,
religiously visiting them all. Hugh hoped that they would "make" the
same fraternity and that that fraternity would be Nu Delta. They were
together so consistently during the rushing period that the story went
around the campus that Carver and Peters were "going the same way," and
that Carver had said that he wouldn't accept a bid from any fraternity
unless it asked Peters, too.
Hugh heard the story and couldn't understand it. Everybody seemed to
take it for granted that he would be bid. Why didn't they take it
equally for granted that Carl would be bid as well? He thought perhaps
it was because he was an athlete and Carl wasn't; but the truth was, of
course, that the upper-classmen perceived the _nouveau riche_ quality in
Carl quite as clearly as he did himself. He knew that his money and the
fact that he had gone to a fashionable prep school would bring him bids,
but would they be from the right fraternities? That was the
all-important question.
Those last three days of rushing were nerve-racking. At night the
invited freshmen--and that meant about two thirds of the class--were at
the fraternity houses until eleven; between classes and during every
free hour they were accosted by earnest fraternity men, each presenting
the superior merits of his fraternity. The fraternity men were wearier
than the freshmen. They sat up until the small hours every morning
discussing the freshmen they had entertained the night before.
Hugh was in a daze. Over and over he heard the same words with only
slight variations. A fraternity man would slap a fat book with an
excited hand and exclaim: "This is 'Baird's Manual,' the final authority
on fraternities, and it's got absolutely all the dope. You can see where
we stand. Sixty chapters! You don't join just this one, y' understand;
you join all of 'em. You're welcome wherever you go." Or, if the number
of chapters happened to be small, "Baird's Manual" was referred to
again. "Only fifteen chapters, you see. We don't take in new chapters
every time they ask. We're darned careful to know what we're signing up
before we take anybody in." The word "aristocratic" was carefully
avoided, but it was just as carefully suggested.
It seemed to Hugh that he was shown a photograph of every fraternity
house in the country. "Look," he would be told by his host, "look at
that picture to the right of the fireplace. That's our house at Cornell.
Isn't it the darb? And look at that one. It's our house at California.
Some palace. They've got sunken gardens. I was out there last year to
our convention. The boys certainly gave us a swell time."
All this through a haze of tobacco smoke and over the noise of a jazz
orchestra and the chatter of a dozen similar conversations. Hugh was
excited but not really interested. The Nu Deltas invited him to their
house every evening, but they were not making a great fuss over him.
Perhaps they weren't going to give him a bid.... Well, he'd go some
other fraternity. No, he wouldn't, either. Maybe the Nu Delta's would
bid him later after he'd done something on the track.
Although actual pledging was not supposed to be done until Saturday
night, Hugh was receiving what amounted to bids all that day and the
night before. Several times groups of fraternity men got into a room,
closed the door, and then talked to him until he was almost literally
dizzy. He was wise enough not to make any promises. His invariable
answer was: "I don't know yet. I won't know until Saturday night."
Carl was having similar experiences, but neither of them had been talked
to by Nu Deltas. The president of the chapter, Merle Douglas, had said
to Hugh in passing, "We've got our eye on you, Carver," and that was all
that had been said. Carl did not have even that much consolation. But he
wasn't so much interested in Nu Delta as Hugh was; Kappa Zeta or Alpha
Sigma would do as well. Both of these fraternities were making violent
efforts to get Hugh, but they were paying only polite attention to Carl.
On Friday night Hugh was given some advice that he had good reason to
remember in later years. At the moment it did not interest him a great
deal.
He had gone to the Delta Sigma Delta house, not because he had the
slightest interest in that fraternity but because the Nu Deltas had not
urged him to remain with them. The Delta Sigma Deltas welcomed him
enthusiastically and turned him over to their president, Malcolm Graham,
a tall serious senior with sandy hair and quiet brown eyes.
"Will you come up-stairs with me, Carver? I want to have a talk with
you," he said simply.
Hugh hesitated. He didn't mind being talked _to_, but he was heartily
sick of being talked _at_.
Graham noticed his hesitation and smiled. "Don't worry; I'm not going to
shanghai you, and I'm not going to jaw you to death, either."
Hugh smiled in response. "I'm glad of that," he said wearily. "I've been
jawed until I don't know anything."
"I don't doubt it. Come on; let's get away from this racket." He took
Hugh by the arm and led him up-stairs to his own room, which was
pleasantly quiet and restful after the noise they had left.
When they were both seated in comfortable chairs, Graham began to talk.
"I know that you are being tremendously rushed, Carver, and I know that
you are going to get a lot of bids, too. I've been watching you all
through this week, and you seem dazed and confused to me, more confused
even than the average freshman. I think I know the reason."
"What is it?" Hugh demanded eagerly.
"I understand that your father is a Nu Delt."
Hugh nodded.
"And you're afraid that they aren't going to bid you."
Hugh was startled. "How did you know?" He never thought of denying the
statement.
"I guessed it. You were obviously worried; you visited other
fraternities; and you didn't seem to enjoy the attention that you were
getting. I'll tell you right now that you are worrying about nothing;
the Nu Delts will bid you. They are just taking you for granted; that's
all. You are a legacy, and you have accepted all their invitations to
come around. If you had stayed away one night, there would have been a
whole delegation rushing around the campus to hunt you up."
Hugh relaxed. For the time being he believed Graham implicitly.
"Now," Graham went on, "it's the Nu Delts that I want to talk about. Oh,
I'm not going to knock them," he hastened to add as Hugh eyed him
suspiciously. "I know that you have heard plenty of fraternities
knocking each other, but I am sure that you haven't heard any knocking
in this house."
"No I haven't," Hugh admitted.
"Well, you aren't going to, either. The Nu Delts are much more important
than we are. They are stronger locally, and they've got a very powerful
national organization. But I don't think that you have a very clear
notion about the Nu Delts or us or any other fraternity. I heard you
talking about fraternities the other night, and, if you will forgive me
for being awfully frank, you were talking a lot of nonsense."
Hugh leaned forward eagerly. He wasn't offended, and for the first time
that week he didn't feel that he was being rushed.
"Well, you have a lot of sentimental notions about fraternities that are
all bull; that's all. You think that the brothers are really brothers,
that they stick by each other and all that sort of thing. You seem to
think, too, that the fraternities are democratic. They aren't, or there
wouldn't be any fraternities. You don't seem to realize that
fraternities are among other things political organizations, fighting
each other on the campus for dear life. You've heard fraternities this
week knocking each other. Well, about nine tenths of what's been said is
either lies or true of every fraternity on the campus. These
fraternities aren't working together for the good of Sanford; they're
working like hell to ruin each other. You think that you are going to
like every man in the fraternity you join. You won't. You'll hate some
of them."
Hugh was aroused and indignant. "If you feel that way about it, why do
you stay in a fraternity?"
Graham smiled gravely. "Don't get angry, please. I stay because the
fraternity has its virtues as well as its faults. I hated the fraternity
the first two years, and I'm afraid that you're going to, too. You see,
I had the same sort of notions you have--and it hurt like the devil when
they were knocked into a cocked hat. The fraternity is a pleasant club:
it gets you into campus activities; and it gives you a social life in
college that you can't get without it. It isn't very important to most
men after they graduate. Just try to raise some money from the alumni
some time, and you'll find out. Some of them remain undergraduates all
their lives, and they think that the fraternity is important, but most
of them hardly think of it except when they come back to reunions.
They're more interested in their clubs or the Masons or something of
that sort."
"My father hasn't remained an undergraduate all his life, but he's
interested in the Nu Delts," Hugh countered vigorously.
"I suppose he is," Graham tactfully admitted, "but you'll find that most
men aren't. But that doesn't matter. You aren't an alumnus yet; you're a
freshman, and a fraternity is a darn nice thing to have around while you
are in college.
"What I am going to say now," he continued, hesitating, "is pretty
touchy, and I hope that you won't be offended. I have been trying to
impress on you that the fraternity is most important while you are in
college, and, believe me, it's damned important. A fellow has a hell of
a time if he gets into the wrong fraternity.... I am sure that you are
going to get a lot of bids. Don't choose hastily. Spend to-morrow
thinking the various bunches over--and choose the one that has the
fellows that you like best, no matter what its standing on the campus
is. Be sure that you like the fellows; that is all-important. We want
you to come to us. I think that you would fit in here, but I am not
going to urge you. Think us over. If you like us, accept our bid; if you
don't, go some fraternity where you do like the fellows. And that's my
warning about the Nu Delts. Be sure that you like the fellows, or most
of them, anyway, before you accept their bid. Have you thought them
over?"
"No," Hugh admitted, "I haven't."
He didn't like Graham's talk; he thought that it was merely very clever
rushing. He did Graham an injustice. Graham had been strongly attracted
to Hugh and felt sure that he would be making a serious mistake if he
joined Nu Delta. Hugh's reaction, however, was natural. He had been
rushed in dozens of ingenious ways for a week; he had little reason,
therefore, to trust Graham or anybody else.
Graham stood up. "I have a feeling, Carver," he said slowly, "that I
have flubbed this talk. I am sure that you'll know some day that I was
really disinterested and wanted to do my best for you."
Hugh was softened--and smiled shyly as he lifted himself out of his
chair. "I know you did," he said with more gratitude in his voice than
he quite felt, "and I'm very grateful, but I'm so woozy now that I
don't know what to think."
"I don't wonder. To tell you the truth, I am, too. I haven't got to bed
earlier than three o'clock any night this week, and right now I hardly
care if we pledge anybody to-morrow night." He continued talking as they
walked slowly down the stairs. "One more bit of advice. Don't go
anywhere else to-night. Go home to bed, and to-morrow think over what
I've told you. And," he added, holding out his hand, "even if you don't
come our way, I hope I see a lot of you before the end of the term."
Hugh clasped his hand. "You sure will. Thanks a lot. Good night."
"Good night."
Hugh did go straight to his room and tried to think, but the effort met
with little success. He wanted desperately to receive a bid from Nu
Delta, and if he didn't--well, nothing else much mattered. Graham's
assertion that Nu Delta would bid him no longer brought him any comfort.
Why should Graham know what Nu Delta was going to do?
Shortly after eleven Carl came in and threw himself wearily into a
chair. For a few minutes neither boy said anything; they stared into the
fire and frowned. Finally Carl spoke.
"I can go Alpha Sig if I want," he said softly.
Hugh looked up. "Good!" he exclaimed, honestly pleased. "But I hope we
can both go Nu Delt. Did they come right out and bid you?"
"Er--no. Not exactly. It's kinda funny." Carl obviously wanted to tell
something and didn't know how to go about it.
"What do you mean 'funny'? What happened?"
Carl shifted around in his chair nervously, filled his pipe, lighted it,
and then forgot to smoke.
"Well," he began slowly, "Morton--you know that Alpha Sig, Clem Morton,
the senior--well, he got me off into a corner to-night and talked to me
quite a while, shot me a heavy line of dope. At first I didn't get him
at all. He was talking about how they needed new living-room furniture
and that sort of thing. Finally I got him. It's like this--well, it's
this way: they need money. Oh, hell! Hugh, don't you see? They want
money--and they know I've got it. All I've got to do is to let them know
that I'll make the chapter a present of a thousand or two after
initiation--and I can be an Alpha Sig."
Hugh was sitting tensely erect and staring at Carl dazedly.
"You mean," he asked slowly, "that they want you to buy your way in?"
Carl gave a short, hard laugh. "Well, nobody said anything vulgar like
that, Hugh, but you've got the big idea."
"The dirty pups! The goddamn stinkers! I hope you told Morton to go
straight to hell." Hugh jumped up and stood over Carl excitedly.
"Keep your shirt on, Hugh. No, I didn't tell him to go to hell. I didn't
say anything, but I know that all I've got to do to get an Alpha Sig bid
to-morrow night is to let Morton know that I'd like to make the chapter
a present. And I'm not sure--but I think maybe I'll do it."
"What!" Hugh cried. "You wouldn't, Carl! You know damn well you
wouldn't." He was almost pleading.
"Hey, quit yelling and sit down." He got up, shoved Hugh back into his
chair, and then sat down again. "I want to make one of the Big Three;
I've got to. I don't believe that either Nu Delt or Kappa Zete is going
to bid me. See? This is my only chance--and I think that I'm going to
take it." He spoke deliberately, staring pensively into the fire.
"I don't see how you can even think of such a thing," Hugh said in
painful wonderment. "Why, I'd rather never join a fraternity than buy
myself into one."
"You aren't me."
"No, I'm not you. Listen, Carl." Hugh turned in his chair and faced
Carl, who kept his eyes on the dying fire. "I'm going to say something
awfully mean, but I hope you won't get mad.... You remember you told
me once that you weren't a gentleman. I didn't believe you, but if you
buy yourself into that--that bunch of--of gutter-pups, I'll--I'll--oh,
hell, Carl, I'll have to believe it." He was painfully embarrassed, very
much in earnest, and dreadfully unhappy.
"I told you that I wasn't a gentleman," Carl said sullenly. "Now you
know it."
"I don't know anything of the sort. I'll never believe that you could do
such a thing." He stood up again and leaned over Carl, putting his hand
on his shoulder. "Listen, Carl," he said soberly, earnestly, "I promise
that I won't go Nu Delt or any other fraternity unless they take you,
too, if you'll promise me not to go Alpha Sig."
Carl looked up wonderingly. "What!" he exclaimed. "You'll turn down Nu
Delt if they don't bid me, too?"
"Yes, Nu Delt or Kappa Zete or any other bunch. Promise me," he urged;
"promise me."
Carl understood the magnitude of the sacrifice offered, and his eyes
became dangerously soft. "God! you're white, Hugh," he whispered
huskily, "white as hell. You go Nu Delt if they ask you--but I promise
you that I won't go Alpha Sig even if they bid me without pay." He held
out his hand, and Hugh gripped it hard. "I promise," he repeated, "on my
word of honor."
At seven o'clock Saturday evening every freshman who had any reason at
all to think that he would get a bid--and some that had no
reason--collected in nervous groups in the living-room of the Union. At
the stroke of seven they were permitted to move up to a long row of
tables which were covered with large envelopes, one for every freshman.
They were arranged in alphabetical order, and in an incredibly short
time each man found the one addressed to him. Some of the envelopes were
stuffed with cards, each containing the freshman's name and the name of
the fraternity bidding him; some of them contained only one or two
cards--and some of them were empty. The boys who drew empty envelopes
instantly left the Union without a word to anybody; the others tried to
find a free space where they could scan their cards unobserved. They
were all wildly excited and nervous. One glance at the cards, and their
faces either lighted with joy or went white with disappointment.
Hugh found ten cards in his envelope--and one of them had Nu Delta
written on it. His heart leaped; for a moment he thought that he was
going to cry. Then he rushed around the Union looking for Carl. He found
him staring at a fan of cards, which he was holding like a hand of
bridge.
"What luck?" Hugh cried.
Carl handed him the cards. "Lamp those," he said, "and then explain.
They've got me stopped."
He had thirteen bids, one from every fraternity in good standing,
including the so-called Big Three.
When Hugh saw the Nu Delta card he yelled with delight.
"I got a Nu Delt, too." His voice was trembling with excitement. "You'll
go with me, won't you?"
"Of course, Hugh. But I don't understand."
"Oh, what's the dif? Let's go."
He tucked his arm in Carl's, and the two of them passed out of the Union
on their way to the Nu Delta house. Later both of them understood.
Carl's good looks, his excellent clothes, his money, and the fact that
he had been to an expensive preparatory school were enough to insure him
plenty of bids even if he had been considerably less of a gentleman than
he was.
Already the campus was ringing with shouts as freshmen entered
fraternity houses, each freshman being required to report at once to the
fraternity whose bid he was accepting.
When Carl and Hugh walked up the Nu Delta steps, they were seized by
waiting upper-classmen and rushed into the living-room, where they were
received with loud cheers, slapped on the back, and passed around the
room, each upper-classman shaking hands with them so vigorously that
their hands hurt for an hour afterward. What pleasant pain! Each new
arrival was similarly received, but the excitement did not last long.
Both the freshmen and the upper-classmen were too tired to keep the
enthusiasm at the proper pitch. At nine o'clock the freshmen were sent
home with orders to report the next evening at eight.
Carl and Hugh, proudly conscious of the pledge buttons in the lapels of
their coats, walked slowly across the campus, spent and weary, but
exquisitely happy.
"They bid me on account of you," Carl said softly. "They didn't think
they could get you unless they asked me, too."
"No," Hugh replied, "you're wrong. They took you for yourself. They knew
you would go where I did, and they were sure that I would go their way."
Hugh was quite right. The Nu Deltas had felt sure of both of them and
had not rushed them harder because they were too busy to waste any time
on certainties.
Carl stopped suddenly. "God, Hugh," he exclaimed. "Just suppose I had
offered the Alpha Sigs that cash. God!"
"Aren't you glad you didn't?" Hugh asked happily.
"Glad? Glad? Boy, I'm bug-house. And," he added softly, "I know the lad
I've got to thank."
"Aw, go to hell."
* * * * *
The initiation season lasted two weeks, and the neophytes found that the
dormitory initiations had been merely child's play. They had to account
for every hour, and except for a brief time allowed every day for
studying, they were kept busy making asses of themselves for the
delectation of the upper-classmen.
In the Nu Delta house a freshman had to be on guard every hour of the
day up to midnight. He was forced to dress himself in some outlandish
costume, the more outlandish the better, and announce every one who
entered or left the house. "Mr. Standish entering," he would bawl, or,
"Mr. Kerwin leaving." If he bawled too loudly, he was paddled; if he
didn't bawl loudly enough, he was paddled; and if there was no fault to
be found with his bawling; he was paddled anyway. Every freshman had to
supply his own paddle, a broad, stout oak affair sold at the cooperative
store at a handsome profit.
If a freshman reported for duty one minute late, he was paddled; if he
reported one minute early, he was paddled. There was no end to the
paddling. "Assume the angle," an upper-classman would roar. The
unfortunate freshman then humbly bent forward, gripped his ankles with
his hands--and waited. The worst always happened. The upper-classman
brought the paddle down with a resounding whack on the seat of the
freshman's trousers.
"Does it hurt?"
"Yes, sir."
Another resounding whack. "_What?_"
"No--no, sir."
"Oh, well, if it doesn't hurt, I might as well give you another one."
And he gave him another one.
A freshman was paddled if he forgot to say "sir" to an upper-classman;
he was paddled if he neglected to touch the floor with his fingers every
time he passed through a door in the fraternity house; he was paddled if
he laughed when an upper-classman told a joke, and he was paddled if he
didn't laugh; he was paddled if he failed to return from an errand in an
inconceivably short time: he was paddled for every and no reason, but
mainly because the upper-classmen, the sophomores particularly, got
boundless delight out of doing the paddling.
Every night a freshman stood on the roof of the Nu Delta house and
announced the time every fifteen seconds. "One minute and fifteen
seconds after nine, and all's well in the halls of Nu Delta; one minute
and thirty seconds after nine, and all's well in the halls of Nu Delta;
one minute and forty-five seconds after nine, and all's well in the
halls of Nu Delta," and so on for an hour. Then he was relieved by
another freshman, who took up the chant.
Nightly the freshmen had to entertain the upper-classmen, and if the
entertainment wasn't satisfactory, as it never was, the entertainers
were paddled. They had to run races, shoving pennies across the floor
with their noses. The winner was paddled for going too fast--"Didn't he
have any sense of sportsmanship?"--and the loser was paddled for going
too slow. Most of the freshmen lost skin off their noses and foreheads;
all of them shivered at the sight of a paddle. By the end of the first
week they were whispering to each other how many blisters they had on
their buttocks.
It was a bitterly cold night in late February when the Nu Deltas took
the freshmen for their "walk." They drove in automobiles fifteen miles
into the country and then left the freshmen to walk back. It was four
o'clock in the morning when the miserable freshmen reached the campus,
half frozen, unutterably weary, but thankful that the end of the
initiation was at hand.
Hugh was thankful for another thing; the Nu Deltas did not brand. He had
noticed several men in the swimming-pool with tiny Greek letters branded
on their chests or thighs. The branded ones seemed proud of their
permanent insignia, but the idea of a fraternity branding its members
like beef-cattle was repugnant to Hugh. He told Carl that he was darn
glad the Nu Deltas were above that sort of thing, and, surprisingly,
Carl agreed with him.
The next night they were formally initiated. The Nu Delta house seemed
strangely quiet; levity was strictly prohibited. The freshmen were given
white robes such as the upper-classmen were wearing, the president
excepted, who wore a really handsome robe of blue and silver.
Then they marched up-stairs to the "goat room." Once there, the
president mounted a dais; a "brother" stood on each side of him. Hugh
was so much impressed by the ritual, the black hangings of the room, the
fraternity seal over the dais, the ornate chandelier, the long speeches
of the president and his assistants, that he failed to notice that many
of the brothers were openly bored.
Eventually each freshman was led forward by an upper-classman. He knelt
on the lowest step of the dais and repeated after the president the oath
of allegiance. Then one of the assisting brothers whispered to him the
password and taught him the "grip," a secret and elaborate method of
shaking hands, while the other pinned the jeweled pin to his vest.
When each freshman had been received into the fraternity, the entire
chapter marched in twos down-stairs, singing the fraternity song. The
initiation was over; Carl and Hugh were Nu Delts.
The whole ceremony had moved Hugh deeply, so deeply that he had hardly
been able to repeat the oath after the president. He thought the ritual
very beautiful, more beautiful even than the Easter service at church.
He left the Nu Delta house that night feeling a deeper loyalty for the
fraternity than he had words to express. He and Carl walked back to
Surrey 19 in silence. Neither was capable of speech, though both of them
wanted to give expression to their emotion in some way. They reached
their room.
"Well," said Hugh shyly, "I guess I'll go to bed."
"Me, too." Then Carl moved hesitatingly to where Hugh was standing. He
held out his hand and grinned, but his eyes were serious.
"Good night--brother."
Their hands met in the sacred grip.
"Good night--brother."