he had won the freshman quarter-mile, a victory which had loomed rather large in the pride of our family. We started trotting around the track, and our trot soon extended itself into a quarter-mile race, which to our mutual astonishment I won by several yards. That was an event of importance, which my brother related with generous delight the next morning and indeed never tired of relating throughout his life. It helped me along in what now seems a rather pathetic effort to escape, not only from inferiority feelings, but from my own nature.
My brother also took me to his class in political science to hear a professor whose lectures he said were becoming famous. The class filled a large churchlike auditorium, and the professor delivered his lecture downward from a high platform. I tried dutifully to be impressed, but found his diction too full of fluent abstractions to catch hold of my underdeveloped mind. His name was Woodrow Wilson. I heard him several times thereafter, but no matter how much I developed my mind, his diction was always too full of fluent abstractions to catch a good hold of it.
(Written After Reading James M. Cain "The Postman Always Rings Twice")
They kicked me out of college when I was about twenty-seven. I went up to see the Dean and tried to hand him a couple of laughs but it was no good. He said he couldn't put me back in college but I could hang around the office and sweep out and wash windows. I figured I better be rambling and I said I had a couple of other offers. He told me to sit down and think it over so I sat down.
Then she came in the room. She was tall and thin and had a white frowning forehead and soft eyes. She wasn't much to look at but she was