“You’re not thin.”      

       “Well, I used to be stocky last fall.”      

       “Oh!”      

       After supper they attended the movies, where Amory was fascinated by the glib comments of a man in front of him, as well as by the wild yelling and shouting.     

       “Yoho!”      

       “Oh, honey-baby—you’re so big and strong, but oh, so gentle!”      

       “Clinch!”      

       “Oh, Clinch!”      

       “Kiss her, kiss ’at lady, quick!”      

       “Oh-h-h—!”      

       A group began whistling “By the Sea,” and the audience took it up noisily. This was followed by an indistinguishable song that included much stamping and then by an endless, incoherent dirge.     

    “Oh-h-h-h-h She works in a Jam Factoree And—that-may-be-all-right But you can’t-fool-me For I know—DAMN—WELL That she DON’T-make-jam-all-night! Oh-h-h-h!”  

       As they pushed out, giving and receiving curious impersonal glances, Amory decided that he liked the movies, wanted to enjoy them as the row of upper classmen in front had enjoyed them, with their arms along the backs of the seats, their comments Gaelic and caustic, their attitude a mixture of critical wit and tolerant amusement.     

       “Want a sundae—I mean a jigger?” asked Kerry.     

       “Sure.”      

       They suppered heavily and then, still sauntering, eased back to 12.     

       “Wonderful night.”      

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