He made a last night's effort with the
proverbial wet towel, and then blissfully took the exam, wondering
unhappily why all the color and ambition of the spring before had faded
out. Somehow, with the defection of Isabelle the idea of undergraduate
success had loosed its grasp on his imagination, and he contemplated a
possible failure to pass off his condition with equanimity, even though
it would arbitrarily mean his removal from the Princetonian board and
the slaughter of his chances for the Senior Council.
There was always his luck.
He yawned, scribbled his honor pledge on the cover, and sauntered from
the room.
"If you don't pass it," said the newly arrived Alec as they sat on the
window-seat of Amory's room and mused upon a scheme of wall decoration,
"you're the world's worst goopher. Your stock will go down like an
elevator at the club and on the campus."
"Oh, hell, I know it. Why rub it in?"
"'Cause you deserve it. Anybody that'd risk what you were in line for
_ought_ to be ineligible for Princetonian chairman."
"Oh, drop the subject," Amory protested. "Watch and wait and shut up.
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