The Rebellion of Yale Marratt Read Online Free Page A

This is a tough

world. You can get in and fight and develop a hard fibre, or end up

the way Yale is heading, a long-haired intellectual. We have enough of

them around, now; developing cobwebbed ideas they hope will uproot the

system that supports them. Yale is a kid. I expected Buxton Academy would

give him direction." Pat shook his finger in the area of Dean Tracy's

nose. "Since you can't, or won't, make any effort, all I want from you

is the assurance that you won't foul up my plans. I'm not a college man,

but from what I have seen of academic circles," Pat sneered, "a few good

American dollars properly placed will lubricate the machinery and stop

the squeaks."

In the bright June sunlight Dean Tracy found Pat's intense, staring

eyes somewhat uncomfortable. "You may be sure, Mr. Marratt, that Buxton

Academy will help you with your son's future in every way possible." He

watched Pat walk away and shrugged his shoulders. Teachers today were

expected to be parents, he thought. It was nice to have a whipping boy to

punish for your own deficiencies. The real trouble with Yale Marratt was

Pat Marratt. Some rich men's sons became drunkards. They chased around

with women, or spent money wildly. This was the normal, the expected

rebellion. It disturbed nothing essential. But this rebellion of Yale

Marratt, if it continued, was more fundamental.

Tracy lit his pipe and made a mental note to check up in a few years

and see what had developed. He doubted that Yale would be successful in

his attempt to undermine the foundations of a man like Pat Marratt. Yale

would eventually line up. He would become the not-quite-so-successful son

of a successful man. In twenty years or so, a Pat Marratt II, or a Yale

Marratt, Jr. would be brought to Buxton by a more subdued Yale Marratt;

the rebellion would have been finished years before. Like most rebellions,

it would have accomplished little.

It took Pat Marratt until late August to admit defeat. As he told his

executive staff all one had to do was define one's objectives carefully

and then accomplish them. During the summer, he put his secretary to

work tracing the background of his personal and business friends. He

discovered at least a dozen Ivy League graduates who were indebted to

him in one way or another. With their help he reached the top deans

and even college presidents. Just as he would feel success within his

grasp, a letter would arrive on official college stationery. It would

suggest that if Yale Marratt would take another year of preparation his

application would be re-considered. Pat was reading one of these refusals

when Liz stepped into his office on her way to her hairdresser's.

"It beats me," he said. He tossed the letter to her. "These damn fool

colleges are crying poverty. They are out beating the bushes looking for

alumni with money. Yet, when I offer them a deal they act as if they had

been stabbed. I had one of the big shots at Harvard on the phone, long

distance yesterday. He talked for a half hour on my call about academic

standards. I get applications from Harvard graduates every week looking

for jobs. Most of them don't know their ass from their elbow."

"Why don't you let Yale take another year at Buxton?" Liz suggested.

"Really, Pat, I think you are making a tempest in a teapot. You didn't

go to college, Yale doesn't want to go. Is that so bad? Why don't you

follow Dean Tracy's advice? Don't drive Yale so hard. Let him drift for

awhile. He'll probably decide later that he wants to go."

Pat shook his head. "You don't get the point, Liz. I don't give a damn

about a college education. I'm stalling for time. Yale is nineteen. He's

too young to work for the company permanently. I'd just create a job

for him, and he would continue to drift. It isn't as if Yale knows what

he wants to do in life. If you asked him, he'd probably say nothing,

or come up with that Europe crap again. If I could get him anchored for

four years