The reason I express the doubt is because we can never double-date or go to the same parties. I am, I must confess, even with my liberal feelings, a clubbie, and more, a southerner. I had to come to the cold and bleak of New England to find that out. I walk through the Square and find myself comparing things, always comparing things: “The people seem sadder here than at home,” I will say. Or “The houses are not as pretty,” or “The people are less friendly,” or, and finally and what I am getting at, “The girls are not as nice.” This I always say and my feelings about this, more than anything else, keep Bennett and me apart socially. Because though we know girls here, girls who are in the liberal groups, I have yet to find one among them I would want to take out.

The reason this comes up is that I asked Bennett whether he would like to go double with me to The Game. He looked at me, shocked. “My dear fellow, have you gone completely insane?”

“Why?”

“Why indeed. Think of the girls you’ve been dating here. Why, it’s as if you never left the South. And how do you think they would take to me? Like kittens to water. You certainly couldn’t go to any of your friends’ parties.”

I continued to defend the idea though I could see now it was a bad one. “Well, we wouldn’t have to go; we could just have a foursome. That might be nicer. Big parties are always sloppy and too noisy anyway.”

He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled sadly. “David, it’s better the way it is. We can’t push our friendship into places where it’s not wanted. Our friendship need not be all-encompassing; it need not include all of the trivial things that make up life. In our hearts we believe in the same things and what we’re trying to do is work for the day when we can, indeed, go to a Pudding gathering together. Don’t you agree? Now don’t worry about me. I have parties to go to and friends to see in Boston. If we try to push this too far, too soon, we won’t have anything.”

I know he is right but—God damn!

Tuesday, February 9, 1932:

Bennett and I have decided to room together next year. We hope to get into Adams House, B-entry, which is the old Gold Coast, built for millionaires, gaudy, and Victorian as all hell.

Thursday, March 10, 1932: