THE SOPHOMORE BALL
It was the night of the sophomore ball. For a week past the class had been
making preparations. The gymnasium had been transformed into a veritable
bower of beauty. Every palm in Oakdale that could be begged, borrowed or
rented was used for the occasion. Drawing rooms had been robbed of their
prettiest sofa cushions and hangings, to make attractive cosy corners in
the big room.
The walls were decorated with evergreens and class banners, while the
class colors, red and gold, were everywhere in evidence. The sophomores
had been recklessly extravagant in the matter of cut flowers, and bowls of
red roses and carnations ornamented the various tables, loaned by fond
mothers for the gratification of sophomore vanity.
The girls had worked hard to outdo previous sophomore affairs, and when
all was finished the various teachers who were invited to view the general
effect were unanimous in their admiration.
Once a year each of the four High School classes gave some sort of
entertainment. Readers of "GRACE HARLOWE'S PLEBE YEAR" will remember the
masquerade ball given by the sophomores, now juniors, and the active part
taken by Grace and her chums in that festivity.
The present sophomores had decided to make their ball a larger affair than
usual, and had sent out invitations to favored members of the other
classes. An equal number of boys had been invited from the boys' High
School, and the party promised to be one of the social events of Oakdale.
Mrs. Gray and a number of other prominent women of Oakdale, were to act as
patronesses. Mrs. Harlowe, usually a favorite chaperon with Grace's crowd,
had been ignored for the first time, and Grace was cut to the quick over
it. As for Grace herself, she had not been appointed to a single
committee. Prominent heretofore in every school enterprise, it was galling
to the high-spirited girl to be deliberately left out of the preparations.
Nora had been asked to help receive and Jessica had been appointed to the
refreshment committee, but on finding that Grace was being snubbed, both
had coldly declined to serve in either capacity.
The four chums held more than one anxious discussion as to the
advisability of even attending the ball.
"I think we ought to go, just to show those girls that we are impervious
to their petty insults," declared Grace. "We have as much right there as
any one else, and I am sure the boys we know will dance with us whether
the rest of the girls like it or not. Besides, Mrs. Gray will be there,
and she will expect to see us. She doesn't know anything about this
trouble, and I don't want her to know. It would only grieve her. She is so
fond of Anne. By all means we must go to the ball. Wear your prettiest
gowns and act as though nothing had happened."
That night, the four young girls, in their party finery, sat waiting in
the Harlowe's drawing room for their escorts--David, Hippy and Reddy. Anne
wore the pink crepe de chine which had done duty at Mrs. Gray's house
party the previous winter. Grace wore an exquisite gown of pale blue silk
made in a simple, girlish fashion that set her off to perfection. Nora was
gowned in lavender and wore a corsage bouquet of violets that had
mysteriously arrived that afternoon, and that everyone present suspected
Hippy of sending. Jessica's gown was of white organdie, trimmed with tiny
butterfly medallions and valenciennes lace.
In spite of the possibility that she and Anne might be the subject of
unpleasant comment, Grace made up her mind to enjoy herself. She was fond
of dancing, and knew that she would have plenty of invitations to do so.
David would look after Anne, who was not yet proficient enough in dancing
to venture to try it in public.
"If only Miriam and Julia Crosby behave themselves!" she thought, "for, of
course, Julia will be there. Miriam will see that she gets an invitation."
Grace thrilled with pride as she entered the gymnasium. How beautifully it
had been decorated and how well everything looked. She was so sorry that
the girls had seen fit to leave her out of it all. Then she remembered her
resolution to forget all differences and just have a good time.
Miriam, gowned in apricot messaline trimmed with silver, was in the
receiving line with half a dozen other sophomores. Grace and her party
would be obliged to exchange civilities with the enemy. She wondered what
Miriam would do. David solved this problem for her by taking charge of the
situation. Walking straight up to Miriam, he said a few words to her in a
low tone. She flushed slightly, looked a trifle defiant then greeted the
girls coldly, but with civility. The other sophomores followed her
example, but Grace breathed a sigh of relief as they walked over to where
Mrs. Gray, in a wonderful black satin gown, sat among the patronesses.
"My dear children, I am so glad to see all of you!" exclaimed the
sprightly old lady. "How fine all my girls look. You are like a bouquet of
flowers. Grace is a bluebell, Anne is a dear little clove pink, Nora is a
whole bunch of violets and Jessica looks like a white narcissus."
"Where do we come in?" asked David, smiling at Mrs. Gray's pretty
comparison.
"Allow me to answer that question," said Hippy. "You are like the tall and
graceful burdock. Reddy resembles the common, but much-admired sheep
sorrel, while I am like that tender little flower, the forget-me-not.
Having once seen me, is it possible to forget me!" He struck an attitude
and looked languishingly at Nora.
"I'll forget you forever if you look at me like that," threatened Nora.
"Never again," said Hippy hastily. "Bear witness, all of you, that my
expression has changed."
Just then the first notes of the waltz "Amoreuse" rang out, and the
gymnasium floor was soon filled with High School boys and girls dressed in
their best party attire. The dances followed each other in rapid
succession until supper was announced. This was served at small tables by
the town caterer.
Mrs. Gray and her adopted children occupied two tables near together and
had a merry time. Many curious glances were cast in their direction by the
other members of the sophomore class.
Some of the girls wondered whether it was a good thing to cut Anne
Pierson's acquaintance. She was certainly a friend of Mrs. Gray, and Mrs.
Gray was one of the most influential women in Oakdale. Frances Fuller, a
worldly-minded sophomore, dared to intimate as much to Miriam Nesbit, who
replied loftily:
"If Mrs. Gray knew as much about Miss Pierson as we do, she would probably
not care for her any longer."
"It's a pity some one doesn't tell her," said Julia Crosby, ever ready for
mischief.
"Oh, some one will have the courage yet," answered Miriam, "and when she
does, that will end everything as far as Miss Pierson is concerned. Mrs.
Gray can't endure anything dishonorable."
Just then a young man claimed Miriam for the two-step about to begin, and
Julia wandered off, leaving Frances to digest what had been said. The more
the latter thought about it, the more she felt that Mrs. Gray ought to be
warned against Anne. She decided that she had the courage; that it was
her duty to do so.
Without hesitating, she blundered over to where Mrs. Gray sat for the
moment.
"Mrs. Gray," Frances began, "I want to tell you something which I think
you ought to know."
"And what is that, my dear?" asked the old lady courteously, trying vainly
to remember the girl's face.
"Why, about Miss Pierson's true character," replied the girl.
"Miss Pierson's true character?" repeated Mrs. Gray. "I don't understand
what you mean."
"That she is dishonorable and treacherous. She betrayed the sophomore
basketball signals to the juniors, and then denied it, when her class had
positive proof against her. Besides, her father is a disreputable actor,
and she was an actress before she came here. We thought if you knew the
truth you wouldn't uphold any such person." Frances paused. She thought
she had made an impression upon her listener.
Mrs. Gray sat silent. She was too deeply incensed to trust herself to
speak. Frances looked complacent. She evidently hoped to be commended for
her plain speaking. Then Mrs. Gray found her voice.
"Young woman," she said, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself. What can
you hope to gain by saying unkind things about a nice, gentle, little girl
who is in every respect worthy of all the love and regard that can be
given her? I do not know what you can be thinking of to speak so
slightingly of one of your classmates, and I am sorry to be obliged to
remind you that it is the height of ill breeding to abuse a person to his
or her friends."
With these words, Mrs. Gray turned her back squarely upon the dazed girl,
who slowly arose, and without looking at Mrs. Gray, walked dejectedly
across the room. But Miriam Nesbit lost one supporter from that minute on.
"Hateful things," said the mortified Frances, looking towards Julia and
Miriam. "I believe they are more to blame than Miss Pierson ever thought
of being."
When Grace paused at Mrs. Gray's side after the two-step, she saw plainly
that the old lady was much agitated.
"Grace," she said quickly, "what is all this nonsense about Anne?"
"O Mrs. Gray," cried Grace. "Who could have been so unkind as to tell you?
We didn't want you to know. It is all so foolish."
"But I want to know," said the old lady positively. "Anne is so very dear
to me, and I can't allow these hare-brained girls to make damaging
statements about her. Tell me at once, Grace."
Grace reluctantly gave a brief account of her recent disagreement with her
class and the unpleasantness to which Anne had been subjected.
"What does ail Miriam Nesbit? She used to be such a nice child!" exclaimed
Mrs. Gray. "Really, Grace, I feel that I ought to go straight to Miss
Thompson with this."
Grace's heart sank. That was just what she did not want Mrs. Gray to do.
"Dear Mrs. Gray," she said, patting the old lady's hand, "it is better for
us to fight it out by ourselves. If Miss Thompson knew all that had
happened, she would forbid basketball for the rest of the season. She is
awfully opposed to anything of that kind, and would champion Anne's cause
to the end, but Anne would rather let matters stand the way they are, than
lose us our basketball privilege. You see, the juniors have won the first
game, and if basketball were stopped now we would have no chance to make
up our lost ground. I firmly believe that all will come right in the end,
and I think the girls will get tired of their grudge and gradually drop
it. Of course it hurts to be snubbed, but I guess we can stand it. We have
some friends who are loyal, at any rate."
"I suppose you are right, my dear," responded the old lady. "It is better
for old folks to keep their fingers out of young folk's pies. But what did
that pert miss mean about Anne's father being an actor? I had an idea he
was dead."
So Grace told Mrs. Gray the story of Anne's father, beginning from where
he had intercepted Anne on her way from the aëroplane exhibition during
her freshman year, up to the time of the arrival of his letter begging for
money.
"Anne used her freshman prize money last year to help him out of trouble.
He forged a friend's name for one hundred dollars, and would have had to
go to prison had she not made good the money he took, I always wanted you
to know about it, Mrs. Gray, but Anne felt so badly over it, she begged me
never to tell any one."
"Your story explains a great many things I never before understood," said
Mrs. Gray. "That doll that was sent to the Christmas party last year, for
instance. But how did Miriam find out about it?"
"We don't know," said Grace. "Her doings are dark and mysterious. Find out
she did; and she has told the story with considerable effect among the
girls."
"It is too bad," mused Mrs. Gray. "I should like to right matters were it
possible, but as long as you don't wish it, my dear, I suppose I must let
you fight it out by yourselves. But one thing I am sure of, Anne shall
never want for a friend as long as I live. Now run along and have a good
time. I've kept you here when you might have been dancing."
"I have loved being with you," said Grace. "I shall not tell Anne about
what was said," she added in a lower tone.
"That is right, Grace," responded Mrs. Gray. "No need of hurting the
child's feelings."
During the balance of the evening nothing occurred to discomfit either
Grace or Anne. To be sure there was a marked coolness exhibited by most of
their classmates, but David took charge of Anne and saw to it that nothing
disturbed her. Grace, who was a general favorite with the High School boys
of Oakdale, could have filled her programme three times over. She was the
embodiment of life and danced with such apparent unconcern that the mind
of more than one sophomore was divided as to whether to cleave to Miriam
or renew their former allegiance to Grace.
It was well after one o'clock when the "Home, Sweet Home" waltz sounded.
The floor was well filled with dancers, for the majority of the guests had
remained until the end of the ball. As the last strains of the music died
away the sophomores sent their class yell echoing through the gymnasium.
It was answered by the various yells of the other classes, given with true
High School fervor. Each class trying to outdo the other in the making of
noise.
Sleepy chaperons began gathering up their charges. The sophomore ball was
a thing of the past.
"These late hours and indigestible suppers are bound to break down my
delicate constitution yet," Hippy confided to Nora.
"In that case I shall make it a point to see that you don't receive any
more invitations to our parties," Nora answered cruelly. "Then you can
stay at home and build up that precious health of yours."
"Don't mention it," replied Hippy hastily. "I would rather become an
emaciated wreck than deprive myself of your society."
"It was simply glorious," said Anne to Grace as they stood waiting for
their carriage, "and was there ever such a nice boy as David!"
Grace pressed Anne's hand by way of answer. She knew that David had
understood the situation and had taken care to steer Anne clear of shoals,
and Grace determined that no matter what Miriam might say or do in future,
for David's sake it should be overlooked.