I think, then, that Bertram Cope, when he began to intrigue the little
group which dwelt among the quadruple avenues of elms that led to the
campus in Churchton, was but about twenty-four,--certainly not a day more
than twenty-five. If twenty-eight is the ideal age, the best is all the
better for being just a little ahead.
Of course Cope was not an undergraduate--a species upon which many of the
Churchtonians languidly refused to bestow their regard. "They come, and
they go," said these prosperous and comfortable burghers; "and, after all,
they're more or less alike, and more or less unrewarding." Besides, the
Bigger Town, with all its rich resources and all its varied opportunities,
lay but an hour away. Churchton lived much of its real life beyond its own
limits, and the student who came to be entertained socially within them was
the exception indeed.
No, Bertram Cope was not an undergraduate. He was an instructor; and he was
working along, in a leisurely way, to a degree. He expected to be an M.A.,
or even a Ph.D. Possibly a Litt.D. might be within the gift of later years.
But, anyhow, nothing was finer than "writing"--except lecturing about it.
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