.. You gave them an evening among
your books, with discreet things to drink, to smoke, to play at, or you
offered them a good dinner at some good hotel; and you never saw them after
... They said "Yes, sir," or "Yep;" but whether they pained you by being
too respectful or rasped you by being too rowdyish, it all came to the
same: they had little use for you; they readily forgot and quickly dropped
you.
"I wonder whether instructors are a shade better," queried Basil Randolph.
"Or when do sense and gratitude and savoir-faire begin?"
A few days later he had returned to the loose-leaf faculty. Cope's page was
now in place, with full particulars in his own hand: his interest was
"English Literature," it appeared. "H'm! nothing very special in that,"
commented Randolph. But Cope's penmanship attracted him. It was open and
easy: "He never gave _his_ instructor any trouble in reading his
themes." Yet the hand was rather boyish. Was it formed or unformed? "I am
no expert," confessed Randolph. He put Cope's writing on a middle ground
and let it go at that.
He recalled the lighted windows and wondered near which one of them the
same hand filled note-books and corrected students' papers.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52