“Why were they canned?”
“The faculty reason was that they fell short of classwork requirements. But the reason why they fell short can be jammed into one word—dissipation. Oh, you needn’t look so horrified; it was what they, and all their world, would call ‘gentlemanly’ dissipation; a little card-playing for money, a little drinking, occasional midnight suppers over in town—that sort of thing.”
“Do you mean to tell me that the faculty lets things of that kind go on, in a frat or out of it?” Larry demanded.
Again little Purdick’s smile was thin-lipped.
“Sheddon isn’t a training school for wayward youth, Donovan; it’s a college for men. Prexy will tell you that the faculty refuses to assume responsibility for your morals; that your character is supposed to be established before you come here. And he’ll probably add that your behavior off the campus will show up in your class markings, and that if these fall below the dead line—as they will if you run with the fast set—you’ll be sent home.”
“Short and sweet,” Larry commented with a grin.
Purdick was silent for a time. Then: “I’m sorry for another reason, Donovan. I thought you were one of us.”
“How do you mean?”
“You are a workingman, and the son of a workingman. You ought to stand with your class.”
“But if I don’t believe in ‘classes’?”