“And you must understand that he saw nothing funny in it. And the significant thing is that he gets away with that pose!”
“In other words, he has introduced the English system into America,” said Sylvia.
“That’s what it comes to, Miss Castleman.”
“You have a king at Harvard!”
The man hesitated, and then a smile spread over his face. “Of course you realize,” he said, “that it’s a game we’re playing.”
“A game?” she repeated.
“Do you know they had a queen in New York, Miss Castleman—until she died, just recently? You came to the city, you intrigued and pulled wires, and perhaps she condescended to receive you—seated upon a regular throne of state, painted and covered with jewels like a Hindoo idol. Everybody agreed she was the queen, and nobody could go anywhere or do anything unless she said so. Only, of course, ninety-nine people out of a hundred paid no attention to her, and went ahead and lived their lives just as if she weren’t queen. And it’s the same way here.”
“Tubby” paused for encouragement; this was unusual eloquence for him.
“As to our king,” he continued, “one-eighth of the college pays him homage, and another eighth rebels against him—and the other three-quarters don’t know that he’s here. They’re busy cramming for exams, or training for the boat-race, or having a good time spending papa’s money. In other words, Miss Castleman, van Tuiver is our king when we are snobs; and some of us are snobs all the time, and others of us only when we go calling on the ladies. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” said Sylvia, intensely amused. “I suspect that you are one of the rebellious subjects. You are certainly a frank ambassador, Mr. Bates!”