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- "Wouldn't you like a cup of hot chocolate before you go? Mrs. Spencer would be-
-"
"I would, I really would, but the thing is, I have to get going. I have to go right to
the gym. Thanks, though. Thanks a lot, sir."
Then we shook hands. And all that crap. It made me feel sad as hell, though.
"I'll drop you a line, sir. Take care of your grippe, now."
"Good-by, boy."
After I shut the door and started back to the living room, he yelled something at
me, but I couldn't exactly hear him. I'm pretty sure he yelled "Good luck!" at me,
I hope to hell not. I'd never yell "Good luck!" at anybody. It sounds terrible, when
you think about it.
3
I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life. It's awful. If I'm on my way to
the store to buy a magazine, even, and somebody asks me where I'm going, I'm liable to
say I'm going to the opera. It's terrible. So when I told old Spencer I had to go to the gym
and get my equipment and stuff, that was a sheer lie. I don't even keep my goddam
equipment in the gym.
Where I lived at Pencey, I lived in the Ossenburger Memorial Wing of the new
dorms. It was only for juniors and seniors. I was a junior. My roommate was a senior. It
was named after this guy Ossenburger that went to Pencey. He made a pot of dough in
the undertaking business after he got out of Pencey. What he did, he started these
undertaking parlors all over the country that you could get members of your family
buried for about five bucks apiece. You should see old Ossenburger. He probably just
shoves them in a sack and dumps them in the river. Anyway, he gave Pencey a pile of
dough, and they named our wing alter him. The first football game of the year, he came
up to school in this big goddam Cadillac, and we all had to stand up in the grandstand and
give him a locomotive--that's a cheer. Then, the next morning, in chapel, be made a
speech that lasted about ten hours. He started off with about fifty corny jokes, just to
show us what a regular guy he was. Very big deal. Then he started telling us how he was
never ashamed, when he was in some kind of trouble or something, to get right down his
knees and pray to God. He told us we should always pray to God--talk to Him and all--
wherever we were. He told us we ought to think of Jesus as our buddy and all. He said he
talked to Jesus all the time. Even when he was driving his car. That killed me. I just see
the big phony bastard shifting into first gear and asking Jesus to send him a few more
stiffs. The only good part of his speech was right in the middle of it. He was telling us all
about what a swell guy he was, what a hot-shot and all, then all of a sudden this guy
sitting in the row in front of me, Edgar Marsalla, laid this terrific fart. It was a very crude
thing to do, in chapel and all, but it was also quite amusing. Old Marsalla. He damn near
blew the roof off. Hardly anybody laughed out loud, and old Ossenburger made out like
he didn't even hear it, but old Thurmer, the headmaster, was sitting right next to him on
the rostrum and all, and you could tell he heard it. Boy, was he sore. He didn't say
anything then, but the next night he made us have compulsory study hall in the academic
building and he came up and made a speech. He said that the boy that had created the
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