The Plastic Age by Percy Marks

Author:Percy Marks [Marks, Percy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
Publisher: Standard Ebooks
Published: 2021-03-16T20:30:32+00:00

* * *

Just when the Incident was beginning to occupy less of Hugh’s thoughts, it was suddenly brought back with a crash. He came home from the gymnasium one afternoon to find Carl seated at his desk writing. He looked up when Hugh came in, tore the paper into fragments, and tossed them info the wastebasket.

“Guess I’d better tell you,” he said briefly. “I was just writing a note to you.”

“To me? Why?”

Carl pointed to his suitcase standing by the center-table.

“That’s why.”

“Going away on a party?”

“My trunk left an hour ago. I’m going away for good.” Carl’s voice was husky, and he spoke with an obvious effort.

Hugh walked quickly to the desk. “Why, old man, what’s the matter? Anything wrong with your mother? You’re not sick, are you?”

Carl laughed, briefly, bitterly. “Yes, I’m sick all right. I’m sick.”

Hugh, worried, looked at him seriously. “Why, what’s the matter? I didn’t know that you weren’t feeling well.”

Carl looked at the rug and muttered, “You remember those rats we picked up in Hastings?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I know of seven fellows they’ve sent home.”

“What!” Hugh cried, his eyes wide with horror. “You don’t mean that you—that you—”

“I mean exactly that,” Carl replied in a low, flat voice. He rose and moved to the other side of the room. “I mean exactly that; and Doc Conners agrees with me,” he added sarcastically. Then more softly, “He’s got to tell the dean. That’s why I’m going home.”

Hugh was swept simultaneously by revulsion and sympathy. “God, I’m sorry,” he exclaimed. “Oh, Carl, I’m so damn sorry.”

Carl was standing by Hugh’s desk, his hands clenched, his lips compressed. “Keep my junk,” he said unevenly, “and sell anything you want to if you live in the house next year.”

“But you’ll be back?”

“No, I won’t come back—I won’t come back.” He was having a hard time to keep back the tears and bit his trembling lip mercilessly. “Oh, Hugh,” he suddenly cried, “what will my mother say?”

Hugh was deeply distressed, but he was startled by that “my mother.” It was the first time he had ever heard Carl speak of his mother except as the “old lady.”

“She will understand,” he said soothingly.

“How can she? How can she? God, Hugh, God!” He buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly. Hugh put his arm around his shoulder and tried to comfort him, and in a few minutes Carl was in control of himself again. He dried his eyes with his handkerchief.

“What a fish I am!” he said, trying to grin. “A goddamn fish.” He looked at his watch. “Hell, I’ve got to be going if I’m going to make the five fifteen,” He picked up his suitcase and held out his free hand. “There’s something I want to say to you, Hugh, but I guess I’ll write it. Please don’t come to the train with me.” He gripped Hugh’s hand hard for an instant and then was out of the door and down the hall before Hugh had time to say anything.

Two days afterward the letter came.

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