Betty Wales, Freshman. Dunton Edith Kellogg
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