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Spires and Gargoyles
"Hepausedandwonderedifthatmeantanything.
TheyreachedthesleepingschoolofLawrenceville,andturnedtorideback.
"It’sgood,thisride,isn’tit?"Tomsaidpresently.
"Yes;it’sagoodfinish,it’sknock-out;everything’sgoodto-night.Oh,forahot,languoroussummerandIsabelle!"
"Oh,youandyourIsabelle!I’llbetshe’sasimpleone...let’ssaysomepoetry."
SoAmorydeclaimed"TheOdetoaNightingale"tothebushestheypassed.
"I’llneverbeapoet,"saidAmoryashefinished."I’mnotenoughofasensualistreally;thereareonlyafewobviousthingsthatInoticeasprimarilybeautiful:women,springevenings,musicatnight,thesea;Idon’tcatchthesubtlethingslike’silver-snarlingtrumpets.’Imayturnoutanintellectual,butI’llneverwriteanythingbutmediocrepoetry."
TheyrodeintoPrincetonasthesunwasmakingcoloredmapsoftheskybehindthegraduateschool,andhurriedtotherefreshmentofashowerthatwouldhavetoserveinplaceofsleep.Bynoonthebright-costumedalumnicrowdedthestreetswiththeirbandsandchoruses,andinthetentstherewasgreatreunionundertheorange-and-blackbannersthatcurledandstrainedinthewind.Amorylookedlongatonehousewhichborethelegend"Sixty-nine."Thereafewgray-hairedmensatandtalkedquietlywhiletheclassessweptbyinpanoramaoflife.
UNDERTHEARC-LIGHT
Thentragedy’semeraldeyesglaredsuddenlyatAmoryovertheedgeofJune.
