"My gosh, Kerry, what in hell is it all about? I swear I don't get him
at all, and I'm a literary bird myself."

"It's pretty tricky," said Kerry, "only you've got to think of hearses
and stale milk when you read it. That isn't as pash as some of them."

Amory tossed the magazine on the table.

"Well," he sighed, "I sure am up in the air. I know I'm not a regular
fellow, yet I loathe anybody else that isn't. I can't decide whether to
cultivate my mind and be a great dramatist, or to thumb my nose at the
Golden Treasury and be a Princeton slicker."

"Why decide?" suggested Kerry. "Better drift, like me. I'm going to
sail into prominence on Burne's coat-tails."

"I can't drift--I want to be interested. I want to pull strings, even
for somebody else, or be Princetonian chairman or Triangle president.
I want to be admired, Kerry."

"You're thinking too much about yourself."

Amory sat up at this.

"No. I'm thinking about you, too. We've got to get out and mix around
the class right now, when it's fun to be a snob. I'd like to bring a
sardine to the prom in June, for instance, but I wouldn't do it unless
I could be damn debonaire about it--introduce her to all the prize
parlor-snakes, and the football captain, and all that simple stuff."