However sweet
girls may be as individuals, or in small groups, they are in the mass
diabolically cruel, and their cruelty is directed especially against
men. I know. I have walked up to a college building to pay a call, while
thirty girls, seated on the steps, played, sang, and whistled an inane
marching tune, with the rhythm of which my steps could not but keep
time. I have been the only man in a dining-room full of college girls. A
hundred of them put down their knives and forks with a clatter as I
entered, and a hundred pairs of mischievously solemn eyes followed my
every movement. Voluntarily to go through such experiences alone a man
must be in love. And certainly I was not in love with any girl at the
Industrial Institute.
"We both have an engagement," I said.
"I can't go," he returned.
"Why not?"
"I have two sketches to make before train time."
"You're going to make me go over there _alone_?"
"I don't care whether you go or not," he replied mercilessly. "You made
the engagement. I had nothing to do with it. But I am responsible for
the pictures."
Perceiving that it was useless to argue with him, I reluctantly departed
and, not without misgivings, made my way to the Industrial Institute.
I am thankful to say that there matters did not turn out so badly for me
as I had anticipated.
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