weather got warm. Kitty was afraid Archer was getting too fat and was always after him to exercise, but until Herres came along to root him out with imperious good nature, Archer had placidly sat in the easy chair in his study, allowing his wife’s scolding to flow unremarked over his head. Herres was a good tennis player, too, hitting the ball hard and volleying deftly, and Archer, who was physically a clumsy and untrained man, was no match for him. But Herres didn’t seem to mind, good-naturedly playing with him three or four hours a week, coaching him mockingly, putting the ball from one corner of the court to the other, for Kitty’s sake, as he said, to make Archer run the fat off.
Then Herres joined the Dramatic Society and got the leading part in the spring play.
“Now what did you do that for?” Archer asked him one night. It was a surprising thing for Herres to do. Aside from the football team, he paid no attention to the extra-curricular life of the campus. And he had no friends besides Sully and the Archers and steered away from all group activity. Even in his fraternity he lived alone, more like a guest at a hotel than anything else. “I didn’t know you thought you had any talent.”
“I probably haven’t.” Herres grinned at him. “But I want to keep an eye on Nancy.” Nancy was the star of the Dramatic Society and was talking about going to New York and trying to get on the stage. “I don’t like her walking home at one o’clock in the morning with the leading man, after rehearsing love scenes all night. So now I’m the leading man and she’s trapped.”
It had started as frivolously as that. But just before the play was to go on, Herres had come to him with tickets and had said, very seriously, “Now, listen, Clement, I want you to watch me carefully. Don’t drink too much before you go and watch me as though you weren’t my friend. As though you were a critic on a tough newspaper and you didn’t give a damn for anything.”
Archer had watched conscientiously. The play was The Hairy Ape, and while Herres, with his close blond hair and aristocratic face had seemed somewhat too polite for the part of the tortured, gorilla-like stoker, there still was evident enough of the competence and self-assurance with which Herres always conducted himself to keep it from being hopeless. Later that night, Archer had told him this, Herres listening intently, nodding and agreeing when Archer had pointed out crudities and amateurishness, and shaking his hand with unaccustomed emotion when he left and saying, “Thank you. It’s just what I needed to hear. Thanks for being so honest.”
In bed, with the lights out, Archer said to Kitty, “That Vic is a queer one. Acting now. The last thing in the world you’d expect from a boy like that. And really concerned about it.”
“Don’t you worry about Vic Herres,” Kitty said. “All he has to do is lie down under the tree and the fruit falls into his mouth.”
That summer, Herres and Nancy got a job in a summer theatre in the East, working fourteen hours a day, playing small parts, attending classes and painting flats just for their keep. That was the summer Archer finished the play about Napoleon III and threw it away.
The scandal came after the second game of the football season and Archer never got over the feeling that he was partly responsible for it. Herres showed up one evening after practice, played for awhile with Jane, then asked if he could have a minute alone with Archer. In the study he had seemed uncharacteristically ill at ease and Archer had fiddled elaborately at cleaning and filling his pipe to allow Herres time to gather his forces.
“I want to ask you a favor,” Herres had begun.
Oh, thought Archer, he’s in trouble with Nancy and he’s come to an older man for the name of an abortionist.
“I’m in the new play,” Herres went on, gravely. “They gave me the lead. And we’ve been rehearsing two weeks. And I want you to
Then Herres joined the Dramatic Society and got the leading part in the spring play.
“Now what did you do that for?” Archer asked him one night. It was a surprising thing for Herres to do. Aside from the football team, he paid no attention to the extra-curricular life of the campus. And he had no friends besides Sully and the Archers and steered away from all group activity. Even in his fraternity he lived alone, more like a guest at a hotel than anything else. “I didn’t know you thought you had any talent.”
“I probably haven’t.” Herres grinned at him. “But I want to keep an eye on Nancy.” Nancy was the star of the Dramatic Society and was talking about going to New York and trying to get on the stage. “I don’t like her walking home at one o’clock in the morning with the leading man, after rehearsing love scenes all night. So now I’m the leading man and she’s trapped.”
It had started as frivolously as that. But just before the play was to go on, Herres had come to him with tickets and had said, very seriously, “Now, listen, Clement, I want you to watch me carefully. Don’t drink too much before you go and watch me as though you weren’t my friend. As though you were a critic on a tough newspaper and you didn’t give a damn for anything.”
Archer had watched conscientiously. The play was The Hairy Ape, and while Herres, with his close blond hair and aristocratic face had seemed somewhat too polite for the part of the tortured, gorilla-like stoker, there still was evident enough of the competence and self-assurance with which Herres always conducted himself to keep it from being hopeless. Later that night, Archer had told him this, Herres listening intently, nodding and agreeing when Archer had pointed out crudities and amateurishness, and shaking his hand with unaccustomed emotion when he left and saying, “Thank you. It’s just what I needed to hear. Thanks for being so honest.”
In bed, with the lights out, Archer said to Kitty, “That Vic is a queer one. Acting now. The last thing in the world you’d expect from a boy like that. And really concerned about it.”
“Don’t you worry about Vic Herres,” Kitty said. “All he has to do is lie down under the tree and the fruit falls into his mouth.”
That summer, Herres and Nancy got a job in a summer theatre in the East, working fourteen hours a day, playing small parts, attending classes and painting flats just for their keep. That was the summer Archer finished the play about Napoleon III and threw it away.
The scandal came after the second game of the football season and Archer never got over the feeling that he was partly responsible for it. Herres showed up one evening after practice, played for awhile with Jane, then asked if he could have a minute alone with Archer. In the study he had seemed uncharacteristically ill at ease and Archer had fiddled elaborately at cleaning and filling his pipe to allow Herres time to gather his forces.
“I want to ask you a favor,” Herres had begun.
Oh, thought Archer, he’s in trouble with Nancy and he’s come to an older man for the name of an abortionist.
“I’m in the new play,” Herres went on, gravely. “They gave me the lead. And we’ve been rehearsing two weeks. And I want you to
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