"Your themes are making me sick," he began, "nauseated. I have a fairly
strong stomach, but there is just so much that I can stand--and you have
passed the limit. There is hardly a man in this class who hasn't written
at least one theme on the glory that is Sanford. As you know, I am a
Sanford man myself, and I have my share of affection for the college,
but you have reached an ecstasy of chauvinism that makes Chauvin's
affection for Napoleon seem almost like contempt.
"In the last batch of themes I got five telling me of the perfection of
Sanford: Sanford is the greatest college in the country; Sanford has the
best athletes, the finest equipment, the most erudite faculty, the most
perfect location, the most loyal alumni, the strongest spirit--the most
superlative everything. Nonsense! Rot! Bunk! Sanford hasn't anything of
the sort, and I who love it say so. Sanford is a good little college,
but it isn't a Harvard, a Yale, or a Princeton, or, for that matter, a
Dartmouth or Brown; and those colleges still have perfection ahead of
them. Sanford has made a place for itself in the sun, but it will never
find a bigger place so long as its sons do nothing but chant its praises
and condemn any one as disloyal who happens to mention its very numerous
faults.
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