And because it was Finny’s idea, it happened as he said, although not as easily as some of his
earlier inspirations. For our dormitory was less enthusiastic about almost everything with each
succeeding week. Brinker for example had begun a long, decisive sequence of withdrawals from
school activity ever since the morning I deserted his enlistment plan. He had not resented my
change of heart, and in fact had immediately undergone one himself. If he could not enlist—and
for all his self-sufficiency Brinker could not do much without company—he could at least cease
to be so multifariously civilian. So he resigned the presidency of the Golden Fleece Debating
Society, stopped writing his school spirit column for the newspaper, dropped the chairmanship of
the Underprivileged Local Children subcommittee of the Good Samaritan Confraternity, stilled
his baritone in the chapel choir, and even, in his most impressive burst of irresponsibility,
resigned from the Student Advisory Committee to the Headmaster’s Discretionary Benevolent
Fund. His well-bred clothes had disappeared; these days he wore khaki pants supported by a
garrison belt, and boots which rattled when he walked.
“Who wants a Winter Carnival?” he said in the disillusioned way he had lately developed when I
brought it up. “What are we supposed to be celebrating?”
“Winter, I guess.”
“Winter!” He gazed out of his window at the vacant sky and seeping ground. “Frankly, I just
don’t see anything to celebrate, winter or spring or anything else.”
“This is the first time Finny’s gotten going on anything since ... he came back.”
“He has been kind of nonfunctional, hasn’t he? He isn’t brooding, is he?”
“No, he wouldn’t brood.”
“No, I don’t suppose he would. Well, if you think it’s something Finny really wants. Still, there’s
never been a Winter Carnival here. I think there’s probably a rule against it.”
“I see,” I said in a tone which made Brinker raise his eyes and lock them with mine. In that
plotters’ glance all his doubts vanished, for Brinker the Lawgiver had turned rebel for the
Duration.
The Saturday was battleship gray. Throughout the morning equipment for the Winter Carnival
had been spirited out of the dormitory and down to the small incomplete public park on the bank
of the Naguamsett River. Brinker supervised the transfer, rattling up and down the stairwell and
giving orders. He made me think of a pirate captain disposing of the booty. Several jugs of very
hard cider which he had browbeaten away from some lowerclassmen were the most cautiously
guarded treasure. They were buried in the snow near a clump of evergreens in the center of the
park, and Brinker stationed his roommate, Brownie Perkins, to guard them with his life. He
meant this literally, and Brownie knew it. So he trembled alone there in the middle of the park
for hours, wondering what would happen if he had an attack of appendicitis, unnerved by the
thoughts of a fainting spell, horrified by the realization that he might have to move his bowels,