Kitabı oku: «Betty Wales, Freshman», sayfa 2

CHAPTER III
DANCING LESSONS AND A CLASS-MEETING

The next morning Helen had gone for a walk with Katherine, and Betty was dressing for church, when Eleanor Watson knocked at the door. She looked prettier than ever in her long silk kimono, with its ruffles of soft lace and the great knot of pink ribbon at her throat.

“So you’re going to church too,” she said, dropping down among Betty’s pillows. “I was hoping you’d stay and talk to me. Did you enjoy your frolic?”

“Yes, didn’t you?” inquired Betty.

“I didn’t go,” returned Eleanor shortly.

“Oh, why not?” asked Betty so seriously that Eleanor laughed.

“Because the girl who asked me first was ill; and I wouldn’t tag along with the little Brooks and the Riches and your fascinating roommate. Now don’t say ‘why not?’ again, or I may hurt your feelings. Do you really like Miss Brooks?”

Betty hesitated. As a matter of fact she liked Mary Brooks very much, but she also admired Eleanor Watson and coveted her approval. “I like her well enough,” she said slowly, and disappeared into the closet to get something she did not want and change the subject.

Eleanor laughed. “You’re so polite,” she said. “I wish I were. That is, I wish I could make people think I was, without my taking the trouble. Don’t go to church.”

“Helen and Katherine are coming back for me. You’d better go with us,” urged Betty.

“Now that Kankakee person – ” began Eleanor. The door opened suddenly and Katherine and Helen came in. Katherine, who had heard Eleanor’s last remark, flushed but said nothing. Eleanor rose deliberately, smoothed the pillows she had been lying on, and walked slowly off, remarking over her shoulder, “In common politeness, knock before you come in.”

“Or you may hear what I think of you,” added Katherine wickedly, as Eleanor shut the door.

Helen looked perplexed. “Should I, Betty?” she asked, “when it’s my own room.”

“It’s nicer,” said Betty. “Nan and I do. How do you like our room, Katherine?”

“It’s a beaut,” said Katherine, taking the hint promptly. “I don’t see how you ever fixed your desks and couches, and left so much space in the middle. Our room is like the aisle in a Chicago theatre. That Japanese screen is a peach and the water-color over your desk is another. Did you buy back the chafing-dish?”

Betty laughed. She had amused the house by getting up before breakfast on the day after Nan left, in her haste to buy a chafing-dish. In the afternoon Rachel had suggested that a teakettle was really more essential to a college establishment, and they had gone down together to change it. But then had come Miss King’s invitation to eat “plowed field” after the frolic; and the chafing-dish, appearing once more the be-all and end-all of existence, had finally replaced the teakettle.

“But we’re going to have both,” ventured Helen shyly.

“Oh yes,” broke in Betty. “Isn’t it fine of Helen to get it and make our tea-table so complete?” As a matter of fact Betty much preferred that the tea-table should be all her own; but Helen was so delighted with the idea of having a part in it, and so sure that she wanted a teakettle more than pillows for her couch, that Betty resolved not to mind the bare-looking bed, which marred the cozy effect of the room, and above all never to let Helen guess how she felt about the tea-table. “But next year you better believe I’m hoping for a single room,” she confided to the little green lizard who sat on her inkstand and ogled her while she worked.

When church was over Katherine proposed a stroll around the campus before dinner. “I haven’t found my bearings at all yet,” she said. “Now which building is which?”

Betty pointed out the Hilton House proudly. “That’s all I know,” she said, “except these up here in front of course–the Main Building and Chapel, and Science and Music Halls.”

“We know the gymnasium,” suggested Helen, “and the Belden House, where we bought our screen, is one of the four in that row.”

They found the Belden House, and picked out the Westcott by its name-plate, which, being new and shiny, was easy to read from a distance. Then Helen made a discovery. “Girls, there’s water down there,” she cried. Sure enough, behind the back fence and across a road was a pretty pond, with wooded banks and an island, which hid its further side from view.

“That must be the place they call Paradise,” said Betty. “I’ve heard Nan speak of it. I thought it was this,” and she pointed to a slimy pool about four yards across, below them on the back campus. “That’s the only pond I’d noticed.”

“Oh, no,” declared Katherine. “I’ve heard my scientific roommate speak of that. It’s called the Frog Pond and ‘of it more anon,’ as my already beloved Latin teacher occasionally remarks. To speak plainly, she has promised to let me help her catch her first frog.”

They walked home through the apple orchard that occupied one corner of the back campus.

“It’s not a very big campus, and not a bit dignified or imposing, but I like it,” said Betty, as they came out on to the main drive again, and started toward the gateway.

“Nice and cozy to live with every day,” added Katherine. Helen was too busy comparing the red-brick, homely reality with the shaded marble cloisters of her dreams, to say what she thought.

Betty’s dancing class was a great success. With characteristic energy she organized it Monday morning. It appeared that while all the Chapin house girls could dance except Helen and Adelaide Rich, none of them could “lead” but Eleanor.

“And Miss King’s friends said we freshmen ought to learn before the sophomore reception, particularly the tall ones; and most of us are tall,” explained Betty.

“That’s all right,” interposed Eleanor, “but take my advice and don’t learn. If you can’t lead, the other girl always will; and the men say it ruins a girl’s dancing.”

“Who cares?” demanded Katherine boldly. “Imagine Betty or Miss Brooks trying to see over me and pull me around! I want to learn, for one–men or no men.”

“So do I,” said Rachel and Mary Rich together. “And I,” drawled Roberta languidly.

“Oh well, if you’re all set upon it, I’ll play for you,” said Eleanor graciously. She was secretly ashamed of the speech that Katherine had overheard the day before and bitterly regretted having antagonized the girls in the house, when she had meant only to keep them–all but Betty–at a respectful distance. She liked most of them personally, but she wished her friends to be of another type–girls from large schools like her own, who would have influence and a following from the first; girls with the qualities of leadership, who could control votes in class-meetings and push their little set to first place in all the organized activities of the college. Eleanor had said that she came to college for “fun,” but “fun” to her meant power and prominence. She was a born politician, with a keen love of manœuvring and considerable tact and insight when she chose to exercise it. But inexperience and the ease with which she had “run” boarding-school affairs had made her over-confident. She saw now that she had indulged her fondness for sarcasm too far, and was ready to do a good deal to win back the admiration which she was sure the Chapin house girls had felt for her at first. She was particularly anxious to do this, as the freshman class-meeting was only a week off, and she wanted the votes of the house for the Hill School candidate for class-president.

So three evenings that week, in spite of her distaste for minor parts and bad pianos, she meekly drummed out waltzes and two-steps on Mrs. Chapin’s rickety instrument for a long half hour after dinner, while Betty and Roberta–who danced beautifully and showed an unexpected aptitude in imparting her accomplishment–acted as head-masters, and the rest of the girls furnished the novices with the necessary variety of partners, practiced “leading,” and incidentally got better acquainted. On Friday evening, as they sat in the parlor resting and discussing the progress of their pupils and the appalling length of the Livy lesson for the next day, Eleanor broached the subject of the class-meeting.

“You know it’s to-morrow at two,” she said. “Aren’t you excited?”

“It will be fun to see our class together,” said Rachel. Nobody else seemed to take much interest in the subject.

“Well, of course,” pursued Eleanor, “I’m particularly anxious about it because a dear friend of mine is going to be proposed for class president–Jean Eastman–you know her, Betty.”

“Oh yes,” cried Betty, enthusiastically. “She’s that tall, dark girl who was with you yesterday at Cuyler’s. She seemed lovely.”

Eleanor nodded and got up from the piano stool. “I must go to work,” she said, smiling cordially round the little group. “Tell them what a good president Jean will make, Betty. And don’t one of you forget to come.”

“She can be very nice when she wants to,” said Katherine bluntly when Eleanor was well out of hearing.

“I think she’s trying to make up for Sunday,” said Betty. “Let’s all vote for her friend.”

The first class-meeting of 190- passed off with unwonted smoothness. The class before had forgotten that it is considered necessary for a corporate body to have a constitution; and the class before that had made itself famous by suggesting the addition of the “Woman’s Home Monthly” to the magazines in the college reading-room. 190- avoided these and other absurdities. A constitution mysteriously appeared, drawn up in good and regular form, and was read and promptly adopted. Then Eleanor Watson nominated Jean Eastman for president. After she and the other nominees had stood in a blushing row on the platform to be inspected by their class, the voting began. Miss Eastman was declared elected on the first ballot, with exactly four votes more than the number necessary for a choice.

“I hope she’ll remember that we did that,” Katherine Kittredge leaned forward to say to Betty, who sat in the row ahead of her with the fluffy-haired freshman from the Hilton and her “queer” roommate.

That night there was a supper in Jean’s honor at Holmes’s, so Eleanor did not appear at Mrs. Chapin’s dinner-table to be duly impressed with a sense of her obligations. “How did you like the class-meeting?” inquired Rachel, who had been for a long walk with a girl from her home town, and so had not seen the others.

“I thought it was all right myself,” said Adelaide Rich, “but I walked home with a girl named Alford who was dreadfully disgusted. She said it was all cut and dried, and wanted to know who asked Eleanor Watson to write us a constitution. She said she hoped that hereafter we wouldn’t sit around tamely and be run by any clique.”

“Well, somebody must run us,” said Betty consolingly. “Those girls know one another and the rest of us don’t know any one well. I think it will all work around in time. They will have their turns first, that’s all.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Adelaide doubtfully. Her pessimistic acquaintance had obtained a strong hold on her.

“And the next thing is the sophomore reception,” said Rachel.

“And Mountain Day right after that,” added Betty.

“What?” asked Helen and Roberta together.

“Is it possible that you don’t know about Mountain Day, children?” asked Mary Brooks soberly. “Well, you’ve heard about the physical tests for the army and navy, haven’t you? This is like those. If you pass your entrance examinations you are allowed a few weeks to recuperate, and then if you can climb the required mountain you can stay on in college.”

“How very interesting!” drawled Roberta, who had some idea now how to take Mary’s jibes. “Now, Betty, please tell us about it.”

Betty explained that the day after the sophomore reception was a holiday, and that most of the girls seized the opportunity to take an all-day walk or drive into the country around Harding.

“Let’s all ask our junior and senior friends about the nicest places to go,” said Rachel, emphasizing “junior and senior” and looking at Mary. “Then we can make our plans, and engage a carriage if we want one. I should think there might be quite a rush.”

“You should, should you?” jeered Mary. “My dear, every horse that can stand alone and every respectable vehicle was engaged weeks ago.”

“No one has engaged our lower appendages,” returned Katherine. “So if worse comes to worst, we are quite independent of liveries. Which of us are you going to take to the sophomore reception?”

“Roberta, of course,” said Mary. “Didn’t you know that Roberta and I have a crush on each other? A crush, my dears, in case you are wanting to know, is a warm and adoring friendship. Sorry, but I’m going out this evening.”

“Has she really asked you, Roberta?” asked Betty.

“Yes,” said Roberta.

“How nice! I’m going with a sophomore whose sister is a friend of Nan’s.”

“And Hester Gulick is going to take me–she’s my friend from home,” volunteered Rachel.

“I was asked to-day,” added Helen. “After the class-meeting an awfully nice girl, a junior, came up here. She said there were so many of us that some of the juniors were going to help take us. Isn’t it nice of them?”

Nobody spoke for a moment; then Katherine went on gaily. “And we other three have not yet been called and chosen, but I happen to know that it’s because so many people want us, and nobody will give up. So don’t the rest of you indulge in any crowing.”

“By the way, Betty,” said Rachel Morrison, “will you take some more dancing pupils? I was telling two girls who board down the street about our class and they said they wanted to learn before the reception and would much rather come here than go to that big class that two seniors have in the gym. But as they don’t know you, they would insist on paying, just as they would at the other class.”

Betty looked doubtfully at Roberta. “Shall we?” she said.

“I don’t mind,” answered Roberta, “if only you all promise not to tell my father. He wouldn’t understand. Do you suppose Miss Watson would play?”

“If not, I will,” said Mary Rich.

“And we could use the money for a house spread,” added Betty, “since we all help to earn it.”

“And christen the chafing-dish,” put in Katherine.

“Good. Then I’ll tell them–Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays,” said Rachel; and the dinner-table dissolved.

CHAPTER IV
WHOSE PHOTOGRAPH?

The dancing class went briskly on; so did the Livy class and the geometry, the English 1, the French required and the history elective. The freshmen were getting acquainted with one another now, and seldom confused their classmates with seniors or youthful members of the faculty. They no longer attempted to go out of chapel ahead of the seniors, or invaded the president’s house in their frantic search for Science Hall or the Art Gallery. For October was fast wearing away. The hills about Harding showed flaming patches of scarlet, and it was time for the sophomore reception and Mountain Day. Betty was very much excited about the reception, but she felt also that a load would slip off her shoulders when it was over. She was anxious about the progress of the dancing pupils, who had increased to five, besides Helen and Adelaide, and for whom she felt a personal responsibility, because the Chapin house girls persisted in calling the class hers. And what would father say if they didn’t get their money’s worth? Then there was Helen’s dress for the reception, which she was sure was a fright, but couldn’t get up the courage to inquire about. And last and worst of all was the mysterious grind-book and Dorothy King’s warning about father’s telegram to the registrar. She had never mentioned the incident to anybody, but from certain annoying remarks that Mary Brooks let fall she was sure that Mary knew all about it and that the sophomores were planning to make telling use of it.

“How’s your friend the registrar?” Mary would inquire solemnly every few days. And if Betty refused to answer she would say slyly, “Who met you at the station, did you tell me? Oh, only Dottie King?” until Betty almost decided to stop her by telling the whole story.

Two days before the reception she took Rachel and Katherine into her confidence about Helen’s dress.

“You see if I could only look at it, maybe I could show her how to fix it up,” she explained, “but I’m afraid to ask. I’m pretty sure she’s sensitive about her looks and her clothes. I should want to be told if I was such a fright, but maybe she’s happier without knowing.”

“She can’t help knowing if she stays here long,” said Rachel.

“Why don’t you get out your dress, and then perhaps she’ll show hers,” suggested Katherine.

“I could do that,” assented Betty doubtfully. “I could find a place to mend, I guess. Chiffon tears so easily.”

“Good idea,” said Rachel heartily. “Try that, and then if she doesn’t bite you’d better let things take their course. But it is too bad to have her go looking like a frump, after all the trouble we’ve taken with her dancing.”

Betty went back to her room, sat down at her desk and began again at her Livy. “For I might as well finish this first,” she thought; and it was half an hour before she shut the scarlet-covered book with a slam and announced somewhat ostentatiously that she had finished her Latin lesson.

“And now I must mend my dress for the reception,” she went on consciously. “Mother is always cautioning me not to wait till the last minute to fix things.”

“Did you look up all the constructions in the Livy?” asked Helen. Betty was so annoyingly quick about everything.

“No,” returned Betty cheerfully from the closet, where she was rummaging for her dress. “I shall guess at those. Why don’t you try it? Oh, dear! This is dreadfully mussed,” and she appeared in the closet door with a fluffy white skirt over her arm.

“How pretty!” exclaimed Helen, deserting her Livy to examine it. “Is it long?”

“Um-um,” said Betty taking a pin out of her mouth and hunting frantically for a microscopic rip. “Yes, it’s long, and it has a train. My brother Will persuaded mother to let me have one. Wasn’t he a brick?”

“Yes,” said Helen shortly, going back to her desk and opening her book again. Presently she hitched her chair around to face Betty. “Mine’s awfully short,” she said.

“Is it?” asked Betty politely.

There was a pause. Then, “Would you care to see it?” asked Helen.

Betty winked at the green lizard. “Yes indeed,” she said cordially. “Why don’t you try it on to be sure it’s all right? I’m going to put on mine in just a minute.”

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the dress. It was a simple white muslin. The sleeves were queer, the neck too high to be low and too low to be high, and the skirt ridiculously short. “But it might have been a lot worse,” reflected Betty. “If she’ll only fix it!”

“Wait a minute,” she said after she had duly admired it. “I’ll put mine on, and we’ll see how we both look dressed up.”

“You look like a regular princess out of a story-book,” said Helen solemnly, when Betty turned to her for inspection.

Betty laughed. “Oh, wait till to-morrow night,” she said. “My hair’s all mussed now. I wonder how you’d look with your hair low, Helen.”

Helen flushed and bit her lip. “I shan’t look anyhow in this horrid short dress,” she said.

“Then why don’t you make it longer, and lower in the neck?” inquired Betty impatiently. Helen was as conscientiously slow about making up her mind as she was about learning her Livy. “It’s hemmed, isn’t it? Anyhow you could piece it under the ruffle.”

“Do you suppose mamma would care?” said Helen dubiously. “Anyway I don’t believe I have time–only till to-morrow night.”

“Oh I’ll show you how,” Betty broke in eagerly. “And if your mother should object you could put it back, you know. You begin ripping out the hem, and then we’ll hang it.”

Helen Chase Adams proved to be a pains-taking and extremely slow sewer. Besides, she insisted on taking time off to learn her history and geometry, instead of “risking” them as Betty did and urged her to do. The result was that Betty had to refuse Mary Brooks’s invitation to “come down to the gym and dance the wax into that blooming floor” the next afternoon, and was tired and cross by the time she had done Helen’s hair low, hooked her into the transformed dress, and finished her own toilette. She had never thought to ask the name of Helen’s junior, and was surprised and pleased when Dorothy King appeared at their door. Dorothy’s amazement was undisguised.

“You’ll have to be costumer for our house plays next year, Miss Wales,” she said, while Betty blushed and contradicted all Helen’s explanations. “You’re coming on the campus, of course.”

“So virtue isn’t its only reward after all,” said Eleanor Watson, who had come in just in time to hear Miss King’s remark. “Helen Chase Adams isn’t exactly a vision of loveliness yet. She won’t be mistaken for the college beauty, but she’s vastly improved. I only wish anybody cared to take as much trouble for me.”

“Oh, Eleanor!” said Betty reproachfully. “As if any one could improve you!”

Eleanor’s evening dress was a pale yellow satin that brought out the brown lights in her hair and eyes and the gleaming whiteness of her shoulders. There were violets in her hair, which was piled high on her head, and more violets at her waist; and as she stood full in the light, smiling at Betty’s earnestness, Betty was sure she had never seen any one half so lovely.

“But I wish you wouldn’t be so sarcastic over Helen,” she went on stoutly. “She can’t help being such a freak.”

Eleanor yawned. “I was born sarcastic,” she said. “I wish Lil Day would hurry. Did you happen to notice that I cut three classes straight this morning?”

“No,” said Betty aghast. “Oh, Eleanor, how dare you when–” She stopped suddenly, remembering that Eleanor had asked her not to speak of the entrance conditions.

“When I have so much to make up already, you mean,” Eleanor went on complacently. “Oh, I shall manage somehow. Here they come.”

A few moments later the freshman and sophomore classes, with a sprinkling of juniors to make the numbers even, were gathered en masse in the big gymnasium. All the afternoon loyal sophomores had toiled thither from the various campus houses, lugging palms, screens, portières and pillows. Inside another contingent had arranged these contributions, festooned the running-track with red and green bunting, risked their lives to fasten Japanese lanterns to the cross-beams, and disguised the apparatus against the walls with great branches of spruce and cedar, which still other merry, wind-blown damsels, driving a long-suffering horse, had deposited at intervals near the back door. By five o’clock it was finished and everybody, having assured everybody else that the gym never looked so well before, had gone home to dress for the evening. Now the lights softened what Mary Brooks called the “hidjous” greens of the freshman bunting, a band played sweet music behind the palms, and pretty girls in pretty gowns sat in couples on the divans that lined the walls, or waited in line to speak to the receiving party. This consisted of Jean Eastman and the sophomore president, who stood in front of the fireplace, where a line of ropes intended to be used in gym practice had been looped back and made the best sort of foundation for a green canopy over their heads. Ten of the prettiest sophomores acted as ushers, and four popular and much envied seniors presided at the frappé bowls in the four corners of the room.

“There’s not much excitement about a manless dance, but it’s a fascinating thing to watch,” said Eleanor to her partner, as they stood in the running-track looking down at the dancers.

“I’m afraid you’re blasé, Miss Watson,” returned the sophomore. “Only seniors are allowed to dislike girl dances.”

Eleanor laughed. “Well, I seem to be the only heretic present,” she said. “They’re certainly having a good time down there.”

They certainly were. The novelty of the occasion appealed to the freshmen, and the more sophisticated sophomores were bound to make a reputation as gallant beaux. So although only half the freshman could dance at once and even then the floor was dreadfully crowded, and in spite of the fact that the only refreshment was the rather watery frappé which gave out early in the evening, 190-’s reception to 190- was voted a great success.

At nine o’clock the sophomore ushers began arranging the couples in a long line leading to the grind table, and Betty knew that her hour had come. The orchestra played a march, and as the girls walked past the table the sophomore officers presented each freshman with a small booklet bound in the freshman green, on the front cover of which, in letters of sophomore scarlet, was the cryptic legend: “Puzzle–name the girl.” This was explained, however, by the inside, where appeared a small and rather cloudy blue-print, showing the back view of a girl in shirt-waist and short skirt, with a pile of books under her arm, and the inevitable “tam” on her head. On the opposite page was a facsimile telegraph blank, filled out to the registrar,

“Please meet my dear young daughter, who will arrive on Thursday by the 6:15, and oblige,

“Thomas – .”

Everybody laughed, pushed her neighbors around for a back view, and asked the sophomores if the telegram had truly been sent, and if this was the real girl’s picture. So no one noticed Betty’s blushes except Mary Brooks, upon whom she vowed eternal vengeance. For she remembered how one afternoon the week before, she and Mary had started from the house together, and Mary, who said she was taking her camera down-town for a new film, had dropped behind on some pretext. Betty had been sure she heard the camera click, but Mary had grinned and told her not to be so vain of her back.

However, nobody recognized the picture. The few sophomores who knew anything about it were pledged to secrecy, as the grinds were never allowed to become too personal, and the freshmen treated the telegram as an amusing myth. In a few minutes every one was dancing again, and only too soon it was ten o’clock.

“Wasn’t it fun?” said Betty enthusiastically, as she and Helen undressed.

“Oh yes,” agreed Helen. “I never had such a good time in my life. But, do you know, Miss Watson says she was bored, and Roberta thought it was tiresome and the grind-book silly and impossible.”

“Truth is stranger than fiction sometimes,” said Betty sagely, smothering a laugh in the pillows.

She was asleep in five minutes, but Helen lay for a long while thinking over the exciting events of the evening. How she had dreaded it! At home she hated dances and never went if she could help it, because she was such a wall-flower. She had been afraid it would be the same here, but it wasn’t. What a lovely time she had had! She could dance so well now, and Miss King’s friends were so nice, and college was such a beautiful place, though it was so different from what she had expected.

Across the hall Roberta had lighted her student lamp and was sitting up to write an appreciative and very clever account of the evening to her cousin, who was reporter on a Boston paper and had made her promise to send him an occasional college item.

And Eleanor, still in the yellow satin, sat at her desk scribbling aimlessly on a pad of paper or staring at a clean sheet, which began, “My dear father.” She had meant to write him that she was tired of college and wanted to come home at once; but somehow she couldn’t begin. For she thought, “I can see him raise his eyebrows and smile and say, ‘so you want to throw up the sponge, do you? I was under the impression that you had promised to stay out the year,’ as he did to the private secretary who wouldn’t sit up with him till three in the morning to write letters.”

Finally she tore up “My dear father,” and went to bed in the dark.