St Ignatius College - Ignatian Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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3 THE IGNATIAN f'Er, I say--Oh, Cheerio, Parker, old fellow. 'WVell, Partmour, said Parker, drawing a chair, HI haven 't seen you since the last reunion at Cambridge. J. Bentley Partmour raised his eyebrows slightly as if with considerable effort. He was not indeed displeased to meet Parker for he had sincerely liked him in college days, but though fairly intimate they had never been close chums, J. Bentley preferring the social side of education in the com- pany of the gentler sex, Parker an enthusiast in every kind of manly sport. So they had met, lived, and parted, each esteeming the good qualities of the other, but unable to see life through the same eyes. J. Bentley tolerated tennis, could yawn out, if necessary, an inning or two of baseball, but football! He had seen a game once and Parker in it, Parker in crimson sweater, leather helmet, canvas pants, ugly ill-fitting things, and then Parker had disappeared except for his wriggling legs, amid a score of other collegians similarly outfitted-the sight of such primitive instincts was too much for J. Bentley. He incontinently fled the field, and appeared there no more. In fact it is stated that he blushed ever afterwards that his Alma Mater should permit her cherished sons to turn themselves into gorillas for the delectation of the rabble. But we give this on hearsay. And yet so strange is the human heart that J. Bentley, even against his better judgment, felt a secret thrill when his College won, felt a certain anxiety when Yale, the Army, or the Navy, came up that way, a feeling which persisted though he fought against it as a temptation to vulgarity 5 and sometimes he awoke from a revery as from an evil dream, for the words Fight 'em, fight 'em, Harvard! had been echoing in his brain. But he was not responsible, he reflected, for unconscious thought. The conscious J. Bentley would never so sin, U- saw Jimmy Ralston, rambled on Parker, good-hu- moredly, he's had a crew of greasers digging Oil for him out in the middle of Mexico-and George de Greve remember

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Fight 'Em Harvard Edzrfzrcl D. Kcil, '25 AD you happened to stroll into the llniversity t'lub of New York one bright morning in early spring, you could not but have noticed a tall, strong, impec- cably tailored and exquisitely groomed young man engaged in the arduous occupation of blowing great. gusts of heavy Turkish tobacco smoke towards the massive ceiling, for he was the only occupant of the room. The gentleman is J. Bentley Partmour, of New York and Tuxedo. J. Bentley's great- great grand-daddy happened to visit. America long before Pro- hibition was thought of and, with the aid of a few bottles of poor rum possessed himself of enough property on old Man- hattan lsland to keep his descendents, J. Bentley among the number. from starving, and to leave a comfortable sum over for jumps to Deauville, Miami, and Coronado. Outside of these annual excursions, J. Bentley's life was taken up in buying and wearing clothes and experimenting in various brands of Oriental tobacco. But J. Bentley, like all men, great or small, who view the ahairs of this vale of tears with too much complacency, was destined to be Fatels little play-toy, precisely at the time that he was basking in its sweetest smile. ldly he gazed out into the teeming street. He watched the tlitting forms of stenographers as they hurried Eilong-If and the little, bent men, with washed-out complexions-clerks. Partmour guessed they were-and thanking God that he, J. Bentley, was not one of them, with a feeling of infinite su- periority he reclined in his chair and sent. a long, languorous trail of smoke ceilingward. Hello, Partmour-glad to see you I Partmour slightly turned his head, a little petulant at having his restful self-congratulations so rudely disturbed.

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FIGHT 'EM HARVARD 9 him? He's building that suspension bridge over in the har- bor at Shanghai- I J. Bentley sighed wearily. Really, Parker, he said, Hit fatigues my mind even to hear of those fellows. Exertion-rush-fuss and foam - he waved his hand dreamily. Imagine his long tapering fin- gers burnt by the sun and soiled! But you, Parker , he added, Hmust be taking it easy now. I believe I saw by the papers that your uncle had left you a fortune, a mere superfluity-since you had plenty already. 'WVell, answered Parker, 'Las to money I suppose I don 't need to worry. But it 's the old 'Fight 'em, Harvard' spirit that 's still got its grip on me. NVl1en I graduated I served as a mate on a boat that ran the submarine blockade, and when we got into the war, why I hooked up with that aviation unit-Gad, but we had battling there! And after it was all over, I trotted down to South Africa into the Kimberly, you know. VVell, I got the fever there, and I had to leave, so I set out for XVestern Canada to cruise the lumber country- But I sayf' broke in Partmour, what's the sense of all this hullabaloo? The war I understand. I went before the Board again and again but couldn't get past it. But aside from defense of country, I think that life is the object of life. NVhy not play at something easy instead of going to these outlandish holes. I wouldn't give up a chair in this club for all the mines in Asia, or wherever the bally things are- 'fCan't you see, said Parker, that it ls not the mines and it 's not the money one makes, it ls the adventure, man- the thrill of combat with some other force, the joy of crash- ing the whole weight of your body and soul against some obstacle and MAKING it move for you! ! That's why you saw fellows at I-Iarvard sweating their hides out over a measly