got three of them this term. I'm learning more
than I did in my whole three first years. Let's be fair, though. We're
blaming it all on the profs, and you know damn well that we don't study.
All we try to do is to get by--I don't mean you Phi Betes; I mean all
the rest of us--and if we can put anything over on the profs we are
tickled pink. We're like a lot of little kids in grammar-school. Just
look at the cheating that goes on, the copying of themes, and the
cribbing. It's rotten!"

Winsor started to protest, but Hugh rushed on. "Oh, I know that the
majority of the fellows don't consciously cheat; I'm talking about the
copying of math problems and the using of trots and the paraphrasing of
'Literary Digest' articles for themes and all that sort of thing. If
more than half of the fellows don't do that sort of thing some time or
other in college, I'll eat my hat. And we all know darned well that we
aren't supposed to do it, but the majority of fellows cheat in some way
or other before they graduate!

"We aren't so much. Do you remember, George, what Jimmie Henley said to
us when we were sophomores in English Thirty-six? He laid us out cold,
said that we were as standardized as Fords and that we were ashamed of
anything intellectual. Well, he was right. Do you remember how he ended
by saying that if we were the cream of the earth, he felt sorry for the
skimmed milk--or something like that?"

"Sure, _I_ remember," Winsor replied, running his fingers through his
rusty hair. "He certainly pulled a heavy line that day. He was right,
too."

"I'll tell you what," exclaimed Pudge suddenly, so suddenly that his
crossed legs parted company and his foot fell heavily to the floor.
"Let's put it up to Henley in class to-morrow. Let's ask him straight
out if he thinks college is worth while."

"He'll hedge," objected Lawrence. "All the profs do if you ask them
anything like that." Winsor laughed. "You don't know Jimmie Henley. He
won't hedge. You've never had a class with him, but Hugh and Pudge and
I are all in English Fifty-three, and we'll put it up to him. He'll tell
us what he thinks all right, and I hope to God that he says it is worth
while. I'd like to have somebody convince me that I've got something out
of these four years beside lower ideals. Hell, sometimes I think that
we're all damn fools. We worship athletics--no offense, Hugh--above
everything else; we gamble and drink and talk like bums; and about every
so oft