"It's Saturday night," announced George Davidson, as if he were addressing an audience of 200, "and everybody has something to do. But their diversions tempt me no more; tonight I shall stay in my room and study." He picked up a laundry box, wrote the name of a course on each side, and flipped it. "Shakespeare," he discovered after the box had landed, "Henry IV."

After changing shirts (one feels so confined in long sleeves) and opening the window (let the noise come in; if Thomas Wolfe could ignore it, so can I), he began to read.

So shaken we are, so wan with care.

"Why not!" he heard someone on the street shouting, "why not do it?"

(Why not, indeed. There are thousands of 'its' one can do, but you won't think of them. You could drive down to Gloucester and catch a dolphin, and then put it on your mantle piece with an apple in its mouth. Or you could go to Franklin Park Zoo and watch the seals, they swim all night. But you won't, the House dances are much closer and everyone is going.)

So shaken we are, so wan with care.

It was quiet outside. Then a girl asked her date, "Where do you come from? I keep forgetting."

(Tell her something different for once, that you live in Bankok and go to the University of Thailand. You came to the game on your roommate's carrier pigeon; it was a pretty difficult trip, all in all, you could never keep the bird on its course. Then tell her that the Adriatic is beautiful at sunset, that the waves smell like honeysuckle and musk. Tell her something different for once.)

So shaken we are, so wan with care.

Footsteps ran down the street. A group walked by, singing "and through the open window she hands Charlie a sandwich. . ." Beer cans clattered to the sidewalk. And then, above it all, a boy shouted "Everyone up to a party at Olsen's pad."

(So now you'll go to your party. You'll play another round of literary hopscotch--"I read Jude the Obscure last summer." "Oh, did you? I just finished Tom Jones, it's the first picaresque novel." And then you'll talk, in small attentive groups, of value judgments and semantic differences; or you'll remind each other that you have no identities yet, and speculate about Our Generation. Pull off each garment covering your souls, but don't worry, you can't escape the cliche. It's Saturday night, gentlemen, and I'm staying home to study.)

So shaken we are, so wan with care.

Church bells rang ten times. Two motorcycles roared. Someone honked an automobile horn. Gently, the sound of a violin concerto came through Gene's window.

He picked up a pen, underlined the entire first page of Henry IV, and went out to the Waldorf.