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Oct. 1st. This term will be very busy. I can see that new. Harold wants me to go down to Maine some weekend, and I have got to spend a few days in New York; then, there is that house party at the Vineyard and I suppose the family will want me home several Sundays. No dean's list for me.
Oct. 2nd. Harold and I have signed up for a course. It is called "The Influence of Herodotus on Trevelyan and Gibbon" and meets every Monday from two to four. The catalogue says it is a "seminar." We don't think it can be too difficult.
Oct. 4th. Today Professor Bell held the first meeting of Comparative History 88a. He announced there was no mid-year examination, no hour exam, and the thesis was due by November 1st. "Boy," Harold said afterwards, "we've made a find. For the love of Professor Bell don't tell anyone about this course. I may even make Group IV this year; if I did that, the old fellow ought to send me to Bermuda for the reading period." Harold was no more enthusiastic than I: the weekends already seemed longer.
Oct. 18th. I was dozing. Professor Bell was wrapped up with his own words and not too mindful of his class. He droned like a summer bee, interrupting the hum every minute with a thunderous blast from a rheumy nose. Suddenly he ceased droning: "And what do you think of "Thucydides's method of art. Mr. Appleworth?" There was a silence, so I thought. Harold nudged me, and I opened my eyes: "Oh you were speaking to me? What is what?" Professor Bell stared and twisted his mouth as I once saw one of Clyde Beatty's lions do. "I asked you what ideas you had on the method of Thucydides as compared to that of Herodotus. "Why it was it was different." "How?" The word exploded in the classroom. The professor followed with a violent gust from his nose. Something nasty prompted Harold to blow his nose. Something nasty prompted Harold to blow his nose, too; it sounded like repartee.
"Again, h-h-how?" questioned Professor Bell amid the hesitating start of a sneeze. Harold opened his mouth and sniff-sneezed. This was too much. "Have you a cold, Mr. Wilson? Or is there some pepper floating in the air?" At the end of an eternity the bell tolled four.
Nov. 8th. Harold got back his thesis. He saw a large "D" with a small "-" after it, as Professor Bell said: "of course you'll have a chance to do better on your second draft. By the third draft you should have a pretty decent job done. This material is not easy for you undergraduates to grasp, you know. Ha! Ha!" He smiled as though he wished to be encouraging but couldn't.
Nov. 29th. Both of us finished our second drafts today. "I'll be very disappointed if I get a '-' on the end of this "A." I told Harold, "I've given up the Vineyard, New York, and the family for Professor Bell and Herodotus." Harold nodded, but said nothing. He was silent all the way to class. For one hour he listened attentively to the professor's voice. Then he leaned over and whispered; "Say, Appleworth, let's see if we can take History 1 the second half-year.
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