"
"Medora begins to tax me with a few. Don't you see any?"
"Not one. I concentrate on my own. Tush, you're only forty-seven."
"Or fifty-seven, or sixty-seven, or seventy-seven...." Foster adjusted his
green shade and attempted an easier disposition of his twisted limbs on the
couch. "Well, forty-seven, as you suggest,--as you insist. How old is this
young fellow?"
"Twenty-four or twenty-five."
"Well, they can make us seem either younger or older. That rests with
ourselves. It's all in how we take them, I expect."
"Better take them so as to make ourselves younger."
"Then the other question."
"How they take us?"
"Yes. We're lucky, in this day and generation, if they take us at all."
"You may be right," assented Randolph ruefully. "Yet there are gleams of
hope. The more thoughtful among them have a kind of condescending pity to
bestow----"
"And the thoughtless?"
"They can find uses for us. One of the faculty was telling me how he tried
to give two or three of his juniors an outing at his cottage over in
Michigan. Everything he gave they took for granted. And if anything was
lacking they took--exceptions.
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