CONFESSIONS OF A GENTLEMAN

Really, life is just one worry after another. Take for instance these hour exams. We're hardly back in Cambridge before they spring those on us. Even the pleasantest courses have them. I've been fooling this fall with one of those social things in Emerson--every one advised taking it, complete rest and all that. Merely some of that help one another stuff graphed. Well, Friday the lecturer posted a notice about the hour exam in it: I suppose to give us something to think about while he talked. And though I kept wondering all through the hour whether I should have taken Wyn out of his no trump on the fourth hand last night, the thought of that notice on the board greatly irritated me. But after a while I did get fairly well settled--that nice state between sleep and waking. The fellow on my right is a graduate student and is apparently going to publish when the course is over, and the one on my left--well, he must have been a spy once, cryptograms or something. Of course I might read the book, though it looks pretty heavy--I actually bought one--fine print too. Wish the old boy were more social, might take him around or something. I must pass that hour. They will educate one at all costs. Oh, probably the "Wid" will have something on it. And I think Charlie took it last year. I'm sure he did. He must have some notes. Isn't it not when you inhale surphur?--I guess I'll drop around and pick up a game of bridge. I think I should have taken Wyn out.