Book IV: Chapter II

by Sherwood Anderson

　　McGregor began to attend some classes at Chicago University and walkedabout among the massive buildings, erected for the most part throughthe bounty of one of his country's leading business men, wondering whythe great centre of learning seemed so little a part of the city. Tohim the University seemed something entirely apart, not in tune withits surrounding. It was like an expensive ornament worn on the soiledhand of a street urchin. He did not stay there long.

　　One day he got into disfavour with the professor in one of theclasses. He sat in a room among other students, his mind busy withthoughts of the future and of how he might get his movement of themarching men under way. In a chair beside him sat a large girl withblue eyes and hair like yellow wheat. She like McGregor wasunconscious of what was going on about her and sat with half-closedeyes watching him. In the corners of her eyes lurked a gleam ofamusement. She drew sketches of his huge mouth and nose on a pad ofPaper.

　　At McGregor's left with his legs sprawled into the aisle sat a youthwho was thinking of the yellow-haired girl and planning a campaignagainst her. His father was a manufacturer of berry boxes in a brickbuilding on the West Side and he wished he were in school in anothercity so that it would not be necessary to live at home. All day hethought of the evening meal and of the coming of his father, nervousand tired, to quarrel with his mother about the management of theservants. Now he was trying to evolve a plan for getting money fromhis mother with which to enjoy a dinner at a downtown restaurant. Withdelight he contemplated such an evening with a box of cigarettes onthe table and the yellow-haired girl sitting opposite him under redlights. He was a typical American youth of the upper middle class andwas in the University only because he was in no hurry to begin hislife in the commercial world.

　　In front of McGregor sat another typical student, a pale nervous youngman who drummed with his fingers on the back of a book. He was veryserious about acquiring learning and when the professor paused in histalk he threw up his hands and asked a question. When the professorsmiled he laughed loudly. He was like an instrument on which theprofessor struck chords.

　　The professor, a short man with a bushy black beard, heavy shouldersand large powerful eye-glasses, spoke in a shrill voice surchargedwith excitement.

　　"The world is full of unrest," he said; "men are struggling likechicks in the shell. In the hinterland of every man's mind uneasythoughts stir. I call your attention to what is going on in theUniversities of Germany."

　　The professor paused and glared about. McGregor was so irritated bywhat he took to be the wordiness of the man that he could not restrainhimself. He felt as he had felt when the socialist orator talked onthe streets of Coal Creek. With an oath he arose and kicked out hisfoot to push his chair away. The pad of paper fell out of the largegirl's lap and scattered its leaves about the floor. A light burned inMcGregor's blue eyes. As he stood in the classroom before the startledclass his head, big and red, had something of nobility about it likethe head of a fine beast. His voice rumbled out of his throat and thegirl looked at him, her mouth standing open.

　　"We go from room to room hearing talk," began McGregor. "On the streetcorners downtown in the evenings and in towns and villages men talkand talk. Books are written, jaws wag. The jaws of men are loose. Theywabble about--saying nothing."

　　McGregor's excitement grew. "If there is all this unrest why does itnot come to something?" he demanded. "Why do not you who have trainedbrains strive to find the secret of order in the midst of thisdisorder? Why is something not done?"

　　The professor ran up and down on the platform. "I do not know what youmean," he cried nervously. McGregor turned slowly and stared at theclass. He tried to explain. "Why do not men lead their lives likemen?" he asked. "They must be taught to march, hundreds of thousandsof men. Do you not think so?"

　　McGregor's voice rose and his great fist was raised. "The world shouldbecome a great camp," he cried. "The brains of the world should be atthe organisation of mankind. Everywhere there is disorder and menchatter like monkeys in a cage. Why should some man not begin theorganisation of a new army? If there are men who do not understandwhat is meant let them be knocked down."

　　The professor leaned forward and peered through his spectacles atMcGregor. "I understand your kind," he said, and his voice trembled."The class is dismissed. We deprecate violence here."

　　The professor hurried through a door and down a long hallway with theclass chattering at his heels. McGregor sat in his chair in the emptyclass room and stared at the wall. As the professor hurried away hemuttered to himself: "What's getting in here? What's getting into ourschools?"

　　* * * * *Late on the following afternoon McGregor sat in his room thinking ofwhat had happened in the class. He had decided that he would not spendany more time at the University but would devote himself entirely tothe study of law. Several young men came in.

　　Among the students at the University McGregor had seemed very old.Secretly he was much admired and had often been the subject of talk.Those who had now come to see him wanted him to join a Greek LetterFraternity. They sat about his room, on the window sill and on a trunkby the wall. They smoked pipes and were boyishly eager andenthusiastic. A glow shone in the cheeks of the spokesman--a clean-looking youth with black curly hair and round pink--and--white cheeks,the son of a Presbyterian minister from Iowa.

　　"You have been picked by our fellows to be one of us," said thespokesman. "We want you to become an Alpha Beta Pi. It is a grandfraternity with chapters in the best schools in the country. Let metell you."

　　He began reeling off a list of names of statesmen, college professors,business men and well known athletes who belonged to the order.

　　McGregor sat by the wall looking at his guests and wondering what hewould say. He was a little amused and half hurt and felt like a manwho has had a Sunday School scholar stop him on the street to ask himabout the welfare of his soul. He thought of Edith Carson waiting forhim in her store on Monroe Street, of the angry miners standing in thesaloon in Coal Creek plotting to break into the restaurant while hesat with the hammer in his hands waiting for battle, of old MotherMisery walking at the heels of the soldiers' horses through thestreets of the mining village, and last of all of the terriblecertainty that these bright-eyed boys would be destroyed, swallowed upby the huge commercial city in which they were to live.

　　"It means a lot to be one of us when a chap gets out into the world,"the curly-haired youth said. "It helps you get on, get in with theright people. You can't go on without men you know. You ought to getin with the best fellows." He hesitated and looked at the floor. "Idon't mind telling you," he said with an outburst of frankness, "thatone of our stronger men--Whiteside, the mathematician--wanted us tohave you. He said you were worth while. He thought you ought to see usand get to know us and that we ought to see and get to know you."

　　McGregor got up and took his hat from a nail on the wall. He felt theutter futility of trying to express what was in his mind and walkeddown the stairs to the street with the file of boys following inembarrassed silence and stumbling in the darkness of the hallway athis heels. At the street door he stopped and faced them, struggling toput his thoughts into words.

　　"I can't do what you ask," he said. "I like you and like your askingme to come in with you, but I'm going to quit the University." Hisvoice softened. "I would like to have you for friends," he added. "Yousay a man needs to know people after awhile. Well, I would like toknow you while you are what you are now. I don't want to know youafter you become what you will become."

　　McGregor turned and ran down the remaining steps to the stone sidewalkand went rapidly up the street. A stern hard look was in his face andhe knew he would spend a silent night thinking of what had happened."I hate hitting boys," he thought as he hurried away to his evening'swork at the restaurant.