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What Father Bumped Into At The Culture Factory
by [?]

“I understand,” said Father. “Nothing can be more playful than to nail a Tombstone and use it for a Paper-Weight.”

“Would you like to look around the Institution?” asked Buchanan.

“Indeed, I should,” was the Reply. “Although I have been denied the blessed Privileges of Higher Education, I love to get into an Atmosphere of four-ply Intellectuality and meet those Souls who are above the sordid Considerations of workaday Commercialism.”

“You talk like a Bucket of Ashes,” said the Undergraduate. “I’m not going to put you up against any Profs. Follow me and I’ll fix it so that you can shake Hands with the Guy that eats ’em alive. I’ll take you over to the Corral and show you the Wild-Cats. They’ve been drinking Blood all Morning and are feeling good and Cagey. About 3 o’clock we turn them out into the Arena and let them plow up the Turf.”

“Is this a College or a Zoo?” asked the Parent.

“I refer to the Squad,” said Buchanan. “We keep about 40 at the Training Table all of the time, so that no matter how many are killed off, we will always have 11 left. We have a Centre Rush who weighs 238, and you wouldn’t dent him with a Hatchet. We caught him in the Woods north of Town and brought him down here. He is taking a Special Course in Piano Music two hours a Week and the rest of the Time he is throwing Substitutes down and biting them on the Arm.”

Buchanan and his trembling Parent sat at the edge of the Gridiron and watched the Carnage for a while. Buchanan explained that it was merely Friendly Practice.

That Evening the Son said: “Father, you can stay only a Little While and I want to give you a Good Time while you are here. Come with us. We are going down to the Opera House to put a Show on the Bum. One of the first things we learn at College is to kid the Troupers. It is considered Great Sport in these Parts. Then, if any one gets Pinched, we tear down the Jail, thereby preserving the Traditions of dear old Alma Mater.”

“Does the Faculty permit you to be guilty of Disorderly Conduct?” asked the Parent.

“Any one who goes against the Faculty single-handed is a Fink,” replied Buchanan. “We travel 800 in a Bunch, so that when the Inquest is held, there is no way of finding out just who it was that landed the Punch. Anything that happens in a College Town is an Act of Providence. Now come along and see the American Youth at Play.”

They found their way to the Temple of Art. When the Chemical Soubrette started in to sing “Hello, Central, give me Heaven,” they gave her just the Opposite of what she was demanding. A few Opera Chairs were pulled up by the Roots and tossed on the Stage, merely to disconcert the Artiste. When the House Policeman came he was hurled 30 Feet into the Air and soon after that the Show broke up. The Student Body flocked out and upset a Trolley Car, and then they went homeward in the Moonlight singing, “Sweet Memories of College Days, La-la! La-la!”

Father’s Hat was caved in and he was a trifle Bewildered, but he managed to observe that the Boys were a trifle Boisterous when they got a Fair Start.

“Oh, yes; but they don’t Mean anything by it,” explained Buchanan.

“I hope they will explain that to the House Policeman as soon as they get him to the Hospital,” said the Parent. “Otherwise, he might misconstrue their Motives.”

Next Day, when he went back, he told Mother not to worry about Buchanan, as he seemed to have a full and sympathetic Grasp on the true Inwardness of Modern Educational Methods.

* * * * *

MORAL: Attend to the Remittances and Son will do the Rest.