304
say Bently's wife is more brilliant
than he. She took my course in
sociology of literature. She isn't
stupid at all. She did an excellent
study of Woolf."
"Thomas Wolfe?" asked Grange.
"No. Virginia. I'd sooner give
her the degree than to her Archi–
bald. But it might make domestic
relations difficult in the Bently
menage." Hicks was beginning to
feel better. He laughed. "I wonder
why she married him? But that's a
stupid question. Love is a subtle
thing." He blushed, and laid the
manuscript on his desk. "It'd be
good to know if anybody started a
revolution in the Village."
"I guess there were conspirators,"
·said Grange. "He calls them the
chronically discontented. He has a
special chapter. He analyzes the
socio-psychological function of
chronic discontent, the factor of
guilt and self-image. Not too bad."
"But not too good. It's garbled
Fitzgerald, Horney and Alexander.
I wonder if he acknowledges
them?" He picked up the manu–
script and then laid it down again
wearily. "What's the use. He does–
n't know what he's saying any–
way. 'And if it's straight from the
horse's mouth' thinks Bently, 'it
means something.' Even if it does–
n't belong in his thesis."
He got up and walked to the
window and looked out. He felt in–
finitely relieved that he would not
have to see much longer the droves
of students rushing to class and out
of it with the headlong
plung~
of
cattle. With the exception of Bently
the individual student did not an–
noy him. As a matter of fact, he
felt sometimes a sentimental tol–
erance for the freshness and naivete
of his students. It was in the ag–
gregate that they annoyed
him,
their bovine expressions at the
be–
ginning of every hour when he
be–
gan to lecture, the mob mentality
that made them all pick up their
pencils in unison, and the way they
groaned with the anguish of a wo–
man in labor when an exam was
passed out. Only Fitz had been dif–
ferent with his devastating logic
and his precocious sophistication.
And then there had been another
too, who hadn't Fitz's logic but an
insight which was as worthwhile.
"I'm getting old," he thought. "I
can't even remember my students."
Then he remembered. Of course.
It was Fria Bently.
He had overlooked her years ago
just as Grange had overlooked
Fitz. Not quite the same still for
even then he had realized her
worth.
"What ever kept me from en–
couraging her?" He suddenly
thought of her running like a ga–
zelle and blushed. He knew now,
and felt very humble. He could not
judge Grange after all.
Grange got up to go. "The re–
tirement age ought to be lowered,"
he thought. "At seventy a man is
simply too old."
Ruth Engelmann
