IV
DICK’S DROP-OUT
“You’ve made up your mind then, have you, Dick?”
Larry Donovan had his small drawing-board on the study table and was working out a tangled problem in “projections.” Dick Maxwell had just tossed his books aside and was walking the floor, hands in pockets; his habit when there was anything to be argued about.
“I don’t know why I shouldn’t fall all over myself to jump at the chance,” he returned. “Dad was a member of the Omegs, right here in Old Sheddon, and, as I’ve said, they’ve given me a bid. I think it’s mighty nice of the fellows.” Then: “I didn’t expect you’d give me the glad hand. You’ve been sort of prejudiced against the frats from the first, haven’t you?”
“Maybe some of it is prejudice,” Larry admitted, wanting to be perfectly fair; “but to me the whole fraternity idea seems to take a wrong shoot. If any place in the world ought to be democratic it’s a college. When little bunches of the fellows pull off to one side and shut out the rest ... well, that’s bad enough; but when, on top of that, they try to run things——”
“The fraternities don’t try to run anything but themselves,” Dick defended. “That’s only your idea, Larry.”
This was entirely true. When we look through the battered old telescope called Life, we see mostly what we are expecting to see; and with his workingman’s eye Larry wasn’t expecting to see much good in anything as exclusive as a fraternity.
“Maybe they don’t openly try to run things,” he countered. “But they stand together and hold themselves as being a lot better than us fellows on the outside. You know they do.”