So they surrendered Tanaduke to the futurists, deciding that he and his flaming ties would do better there.

Tom gave him the final advice that he should stop writing for two years and read the complete works of Alexander Pope four times, but on Amory's suggestion that Pope for Tanaduke was like foot-ease for stomach trouble, they withdrew in laughter, and called it a coin's toss whether this genius was too big or too petty for them.
Amory rather scornfully avoided the popular professors who dispensed easy epigrams and thimblefuls of Chartreuse to groups of admirers every night.

He was disappointed, too, at the air of general uncertainty on every subject that seemed linked with the pedantic temperament; his opinions took shape in a miniature satire called "In a Lecture-Room," which he persuaded Tom to print in the Nassau Lit.
"Good-morning, Fool...
Three times a week You hold us helpless while you speak, Teasing our thirsty souls with the Sleek 'yeas' of your philosophy...
Well, here we are, your hundred sheep, Tune up, play on, pour forth...

we sleep...
You are a student, so they say; You hammered out the other day A syllabus, from what we know Of some forgotten folio; You'd sniffled through an era's must, Filling your nostrils up with dust, And then, arising from your knees, Published, in one gigantic sneeze...
But here's a neighbor on my right, An Eager Ass, considered bright; Asker of questions....

How he'll stand, With earnest air and fidgy hand, After this hour, telling you He sat all night and burrowed through Your book....