The American state universities admit, in a pleased way, that though

Yale and Harvard and Princeton may be snobbish, the state universities

are the refuge of a myth called "college democracy." But there is no

university near a considerable city into which the inheritors of the

wealth of that city do not carry all the local social distinctions.

Their family rank, their place in the unwritten peerage, determines to

which fraternity they shall be elected, and the fraternity determines

with whom--men and girls--they shall be intimate. The sons and daughters

of Seattle and Tacoma, the scions of old families running in an unbroken

line clear back to 1880, were amiable to poor outsiders from the Yakima

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valley and the new claims of Idaho, but they did not often invite them

to their homes on the two hills and the Boulevard.

Yet it was these plutocrats whom Milt followed; they whose boots and

table manners, cigarettes and lack of interest in theology, he studied.

He met them in his English class. He remarked "Hello, Smith," and

"Mornin', Jones," as though he liked them but didn't care a hang whether

they liked him. And by and by he drifted into their fraternity

dwelling-house, with a question about the next day's assignment, and met

their friends. He sat pipe-smoking, silent, cheerful, and they seemed to

accept him. Whenever one of them felt that Milt was intruding, and asked

impertinent questions in the manner of a Pullman porter at a Darktown

ball, Milt had a peculiar level look which had been known to generate

courtesy even in the offspring of a million dollars. They found that he

knew more about motor-cars than any of them, and as motor-cars were

among their greater gods, they considered him wise. He was incomparably

simple and unpretentious; they found his presence comfortable.

But there is a question as to what they would have thought had they

known that, lying awake in the morning, Milt unsmilingly repeated: "Hair always straight down at the back. Never rounded. Nix on clippers

over the ears.

"Matisse is a popular nut artist. Fashionable for the swells to laugh at

him, and the fellows on the college papers to rave about him.

"Blinx and Severan the swellest--the smartest haberdashery in the city.

"The one way to get in Dutch is to mention labor leaders.

"Never say 'Pleased to meet you.' Just look about halfway between bored

and tol'able and say, 'How do you do?'"

* * * * * All these first three weeks of his life in Seattle, he had seen Claire

only on his first call. Twice he had telephoned to her. On one of these

high occasions she had invited him to accompany the family to the

theater--which meant to the movies--and he had wretchedly refused; the

other time she had said that she might stay in Seattle all winter, and

she might go any day, and they "must be sure to have that good long

walk"; and he had said "oh yes," ten or twelve unhappy times, and had

felt very empty as he hung up the receiver.




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