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Page 11 text:
“
Fight ’Em Harvard Edward I). Keil, ’25 AD you happened to stroll into the University Club of New York one bright morning in early spring, you could not but have noticed a tall, strong, impeccably 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 lie 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 Prohibition was thought of and, with the aid of a few bottles of poor rum possessed himself of enough property on old Manhattan Island 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 affairs of this vale of tears with too much complacency, was destined to be Fate’s little play-toy, precisely at the time that he was basking in its sweetest smile. Idly he gazed out into the teeming street. He watched the flitting forms of stenographers as they hurried along— 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 superiority he reclined in his chair and sent a long, languorous trail of smoke ceilingward. “Hello, Partmour—glad to see you!” Partmour slightly turned his head, a little petulant at having his restful self-congratulations so rudely disturbed.
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Page 12 text:
“
THE I ax ATI AX 8 “Er, T say—Oh, Cheerio, Parker, old fellow.’ ‘‘Well, Part in our,” said Parker, drawing a chair, “I haven't seen you since the last reunion at Cambridge.' •I. 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. Bentley preferring the social side of education in the company 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! lie 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 Vale, the Army, or the Navy, came up that way; a feeling which persisted though lie fought against it as a temptation to vulgarity; 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. “— saw Jimmy Ralston,” rambled on Parker, good-humoredly, “lie's had a crew of greasers digging oil for him out in the middle of Mexico—and George de Grove, remember
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