them."
His roommates glanced at one another quizzically. And then Newall complained, "Knock off this preaching, huh? I mean, if I'd said this guy was short or fat, you wouldn't have given me any heat. When I refer to someone as a Hebie or a coon, it's just a friendly way of typing him, a sort of shorthand adjective. I mean, for your information, i've
invited this guy Jason Gilbert to our blast after the football
game on Saturday." -
Then he looked at Andrew with mischief in his eyes and added, "That's if you don't mind actually mixing with a Jewboy."
Although it was only the first week of November, the air
at six o'clock was glacial and as dark as any winter evening. As Jason was dressing after squash practice,
he discovered, to his annoyance, that he'd forgotten to bring
a tie. He'd now have to return to Straus to get one. Other-
wise, that Irish Cerberus who stood checking necks at the
Union doorway would gleefully bounce him. Damn. Damn.
He trudged back across the chilly, leafless Yard, climbed the stairs to A-32, and fumbled for his key.
The moment that he pushed the door ajar, Jason noticed something odd. The place was dark. He glanced at D. D. 's room. No light from there either. Maybe he was sick. Jason rapped softly and inquired, "Davidson, are you okay?"
There was no reply. -
Then, breaking the ironclad house rules, Jason opened the
door. First he noticed the ceiling, where the electric wires had been torn out. Then he glanced quickly at the -floor. Where he saw his roommate in a heap, mnotionless-a belt around his neck.
Jason was vertiginous with fear.
Oh God, he thought, the bastard's killed himself. He knelt and turned D. D. over. This gesture elicited the faintest semblance of a groan. Quick, Jason, he urged himself, fighting to keep his wits, call the cops. No. They might not come in time.
He swiftly removed the leather belt from his roommate's lacerated throat. He then heaved him up onto his shoulders like a fireman, and rushed as quickly as he could to Harvard Square, where he commandeered a taxi, ordering the driver to tear-ass to the infirmary.
"He'll be all right," the on-duty physician assured Jason.
"I don't think Harvard sockets are wired well enough for suicide. Although, God knows, there are some kids who
actually succeed in their ingenious ways. Why do you think he did it?"
"I don't know," said Jason, still somewhat deadened from the shock.
"The young man had a bit too much invested in his grades," Dennis Linden pronounced. He had arrived on the scene in time to offer a professional analysis of the young freshman's desperate action.
"Did his behavior give you any hints that this was coming?
asked the Health Service doctor.
Jason shot a glance at Linden, who continued to
pontificate, "Not really. You can never figure out which egg is going to crack. I mean, the freshman year's so fraught with pressure."
As the two doctors continued chatting, Jason fixed his gaze on his shoes.
Ten minutes later, Jason and the proctor walked together
out of the infirmary; It was only then that he realized that he
had no coat. Or gloves. Or anything. Panic had inured him to the cold. Now he was shivering. -
"You need a lift, Jason?" Linden asked.
"No, thanks," he answered sullenly. -
"Come on, Gilbert, you'll freeze to death walking back like
- that." -
- "Okay," he relented. -
During the short ride up Mount Auburn Street, the proctor tried to justify himself.
"Look," he rationalized, "this is what Harvard's all about- it's sink or swim."
- "Yeah," Jason mumbled half-aloud, "but you're supposed to be the lifeguard."
At the next red light he climbed out of Linden's car and slammed the door.
His anger again made him oblivious to the bitter cold.
He walked on toward the Square. At Elsie's he consumed two Roast-Beef Specials to replace the dinner he had missed, then went over to Cronin's, cruising
His roommates glanced at one another quizzically. And then Newall complained, "Knock off this preaching, huh? I mean, if I'd said this guy was short or fat, you wouldn't have given me any heat. When I refer to someone as a Hebie or a coon, it's just a friendly way of typing him, a sort of shorthand adjective. I mean, for your information, i've
invited this guy Jason Gilbert to our blast after the football
game on Saturday." -
Then he looked at Andrew with mischief in his eyes and added, "That's if you don't mind actually mixing with a Jewboy."
Although it was only the first week of November, the air
at six o'clock was glacial and as dark as any winter evening. As Jason was dressing after squash practice,
he discovered, to his annoyance, that he'd forgotten to bring
a tie. He'd now have to return to Straus to get one. Other-
wise, that Irish Cerberus who stood checking necks at the
Union doorway would gleefully bounce him. Damn. Damn.
He trudged back across the chilly, leafless Yard, climbed the stairs to A-32, and fumbled for his key.
The moment that he pushed the door ajar, Jason noticed something odd. The place was dark. He glanced at D. D. 's room. No light from there either. Maybe he was sick. Jason rapped softly and inquired, "Davidson, are you okay?"
There was no reply. -
Then, breaking the ironclad house rules, Jason opened the
door. First he noticed the ceiling, where the electric wires had been torn out. Then he glanced quickly at the -floor. Where he saw his roommate in a heap, mnotionless-a belt around his neck.
Jason was vertiginous with fear.
Oh God, he thought, the bastard's killed himself. He knelt and turned D. D. over. This gesture elicited the faintest semblance of a groan. Quick, Jason, he urged himself, fighting to keep his wits, call the cops. No. They might not come in time.
He swiftly removed the leather belt from his roommate's lacerated throat. He then heaved him up onto his shoulders like a fireman, and rushed as quickly as he could to Harvard Square, where he commandeered a taxi, ordering the driver to tear-ass to the infirmary.
"He'll be all right," the on-duty physician assured Jason.
"I don't think Harvard sockets are wired well enough for suicide. Although, God knows, there are some kids who
actually succeed in their ingenious ways. Why do you think he did it?"
"I don't know," said Jason, still somewhat deadened from the shock.
"The young man had a bit too much invested in his grades," Dennis Linden pronounced. He had arrived on the scene in time to offer a professional analysis of the young freshman's desperate action.
"Did his behavior give you any hints that this was coming?
asked the Health Service doctor.
Jason shot a glance at Linden, who continued to
pontificate, "Not really. You can never figure out which egg is going to crack. I mean, the freshman year's so fraught with pressure."
As the two doctors continued chatting, Jason fixed his gaze on his shoes.
Ten minutes later, Jason and the proctor walked together
out of the infirmary; It was only then that he realized that he
had no coat. Or gloves. Or anything. Panic had inured him to the cold. Now he was shivering. -
"You need a lift, Jason?" Linden asked.
"No, thanks," he answered sullenly. -
"Come on, Gilbert, you'll freeze to death walking back like
- that." -
- "Okay," he relented. -
During the short ride up Mount Auburn Street, the proctor tried to justify himself.
"Look," he rationalized, "this is what Harvard's all about- it's sink or swim."
- "Yeah," Jason mumbled half-aloud, "but you're supposed to be the lifeguard."
At the next red light he climbed out of Linden's car and slammed the door.
His anger again made him oblivious to the bitter cold.
He walked on toward the Square. At Elsie's he consumed two Roast-Beef Specials to replace the dinner he had missed, then went over to Cronin's, cruising
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