PLEDGE-DAY
When Marjorie returned from the party, she found Lily in tears.
“You’re awfully late,” she sobbed, “and I’ve been so lonely.”
“I’m sorry,” said Marjorie, “do you want to hear about the party?”
Lily raised her head from the pillow. “I don’t care--if you want to
tell me, and it isn’t a secret, or anything.”
Marjorie began to tell about their good time. Suddenly she stopped, and
looked hastily at her watch. “You better hurry and dress, Lily!” she
advised. “It’s five minutes of six. You’ll be late for supper!”
“I don’t want any--I couldn’t go in the dining-room like this; my eyes
are a sight!”
“Well, I’ll ask if I can bring you some supper up here.”
“No--I’m not hungry. I’ve been eating chocolates. Father sent me
another five-pound box.”
“Oh, Lily! why did you eat them? Can’t you just eat them after meals?
Your digestion will be ruined, and besides you’ll never be able to play
hockey, or swim in the pool.”
“I don’t want to play hockey or swim!” she exclaimed. “I hate
athletics. And I loathe Miss Phillips. Every time I see her, she says
something about ‘chocolate éclairs and cream puffs.’”
Marjorie sighed. The dinner bell sounded. “Well, I’ll have to go,” she
said. “I’ll tell you more about the party after supper.” She paused and
unpinned her bunch of violets. “I want you to have half,” she said as
she divided them. “They were the prize--I won them.”
“Thanks, awfully, Marjorie,” said Lily, smiling again. “Don’t leave me
long; and, oh, Marjorie, if you do make the sorority, promise to help
get me in it.”
“I can’t do that, dear. They only take four girls from each class, and
there wouldn’t be a vacancy unless somebody died or left the seminary.”
“Then promise me you’ll always be my friend.”
“If you’ll promise to eat less candy, and go out more for athletics,”
she answered.
“I will; I will, honestly,” said Lily earnestly.
Marjorie stooped and kissed her. “I don’t think I’ll make the sorority,
but if I should, it wouldn’t make any difference between us,” she said.
“Lily has improved,” thought Marjorie, as she walked down the hall,
“but there’s room for a lot more. If only she wouldn’t think so much
about herself. If girls would go in hard for athletics when they’re
blue or morbid, they’d soon get over it.”
At the corner she met Ethel Todd. Just as Ethel was about to say
something, Miss Phillips hurried up to her.
“Marjorie Wilkinson!” she said, “can you come to my table to talk over
the hockey team this evening?”
Ethel’s face fell. “Oh, I was just going to invite Marjorie to our
table--I got Miss Allen’s permission. Can’t she go with you some other
time?”
But Marjorie turned to Ethel, and shook her head. Her eyes sparkled
with excitement, as she glanced again at Miss Phillips. “Thanks
awfully, Ethel,” she said, “but you see, if I don’t go with Miss
Phillips, it will be too late to discuss the team. And besides,” she
added, smiling, “it’s such an honor to be invited by a teacher!”
Miss Phillips beamed. “I admire your pluck, Marjorie,” she said, after
Ethel had gone off. “There aren’t many girls who would turn down an
ΦΑΒ girl for a teacher!”
“But I like the teacher better,” she said shyly, as she slipped her arm
into Miss Phillips’s, and walked with her into the dining-room.
The next day was set aside for the freshman picnic. Miss Phillips and
Miss Landis, the chaperones, guided the girls along a winding path
which led into a deep pine woods.
“What a wonderful place!” cried Marjorie.
“Yes,” agreed Miss Phillips enthusiastically, “and the beauty of it is
that it’s just as nice in winter as at any other time, because it is
always secluded from the wind, and the trees never change.”
“I am going to make a map of it,” said Marjorie. “My brother showed me
how the Boy Scouts make them.”
Ruth looked scornful. “Marjorie, you are interested in such queer
things!” she said.
Mae was standing beside Ruth. “Girls,” she said to Ruth and Marjorie in
a low tone, “our crowd is over here under the trees--we’re going to eat
together. Will you both come?”
Marjorie was rather surprised to be included in what Mae had designated
as “Our crowd,” but she was very glad to be with Ruth. They all walked
over to the spot indicated by Mae, and found Evelyn, Doris, and Anna,
untying packages of lunch.
Ruth became very gay. “Girls,” she said, “I feel that we ought to stick
together to-day, for this is our last chance. To-morrow, of course, is
pledge-day--and by supper time, we’ll be divided--and two of us will be
left out of the crowd. So let’s be friends as long as we can!”
“Surely you don’t mean that, do you, Ruth?” asked Anna. “Why can’t we
keep on all being friends, even if four of you are pledged to ΦΑΒ, and
two of us are not?”
“Anna certainly is modest!” exclaimed Evelyn. “She includes herself
amongst those left out.”
Anna blushed. “I never have expected to make the sorority,” she said,
“ever since Doris told me about it; but I don’t see why I should lose
all your friendships for that reason.”
“Of course not,” said Marjorie emphatically. “Let’s be sensible. We’re
too good friends for that. Why, that would mean a sorority girl could
have only three friends in her own class.”
“Let’s promise to go on just as we are,” said Doris, sweetly, “and if
we don’t make it ourselves, be glad for the ones that do.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” snapped Evelyn. “You’re President of the
class, and you know she’s always chosen!”
Mae changed the subject. “Does anyone know how they make the bids?” she
asked.
“Yes, I do,” said Ruth. “One of the girls from home who went here, told
me. You see to-morrow’s Saturday, and so, after lunch, if it’s a nice
day, the girls usually go for a walk in the garden. Of course, you
don’t have to--you can stay in your room if you like. Well, anyway,
the ΦΑΒ girls meet in the room of one of the senior or junior members
at two o’clock, and begin to vote. They say sometimes they have an
awful lot of voting--I guess like the primary elections my father tells
about--because each new member has to be elected unanimously, so they
often vote over and over again. Then, as soon as they have decided on
the candidates, the four sophomores are each sent to get a freshman who
has been voted in.”
“My goodness! How exciting!” exclaimed Anna.
“I don’t think, though,” continued Ruth, “that a girl usually stays out
in the garden unless she either is sure of being asked or of not being
asked.”
“What do you mean?” asked Doris.
“Well, of course, you, Doris, would go out in the garden, because
everybody knows you’ll be asked; and Lily Andrews, for instance, could
go out, because nobody expects her to be invited; but all doubtful
people like Marjorie, and Anna, and me--why, we’d feel humiliated if we
were out there and weren’t taken. So I for one am going to stay in my
room.”
“Oh, but I want to see the fun,” objected Marjorie. “And I sha’n’t mind
not being invited.”
“Marjorie Wilkinson!” exclaimed Ruth, “you know that is not the
truth--you’re just dying to write home and say you are an ΦΑΒ Pledge!”
“Maybe I am,” admitted Marjorie.
“Am what?” inquired Lily, approaching the group, in search of her
room-mate.
“Am full!” laughed Marjorie. “I can’t stuff another bite.”
“Sit down, Lily,” said Doris politely. “We want to talk over the
freshman hockey team.”
Lily did as she was requested, and the girls chatted gaily until Miss
Phillips announced that it was time to pack up.
The next day was one of great excitement. Thirty-five freshmen girls
were eagerly waiting to see who would be the lucky four. Naturally
everyone expected the candidates to be chosen from the six who had been
invited to the party; but every girl cherished in her heart the hope
of a joyful surprise. Once, it was whispered, a girl whom no one had
thought of had been asked. Why not again?
Marjorie was secretly excited, but she did not admit it. After lunch,
instead of walking on the campus, she went over to the gym to Miss
Phillips’s office, where she could watch proceedings out of the window,
and at the same time, help her favorite teacher with some work.
Ruth went up to her own room and tried to write letters. Doris, Mae,
and Anna, strolled out in the garden, and Evelyn went to the library to
read. Lily looked in vain for Marjorie, and finally went up to her room
and sat where she could see the door, listening for every step.
The clock on the library door chimed half-past two. Nothing had
happened, except that all the sorority girls were missing. The groups
of girls on the campus began to come closer together, to center around
the side porch.
The clock chimed quarter of the hour. Still nothing happened. The girls
kept walking closer and closer. One or two girls, tired of waiting,
went into the house. Then, just as the clock struck three, Frances
Wright, the sophomore President, opened the side door and came out on
the porch.
The groups all stopped, breathless. Then they tried not to watch, to
look unconcerned, and to talk naturally, though everybody was pretty
sure they knew where Frances was headed. Looking straight ahead, she
walked down the porch steps, across the path, and over to the big elm
where Doris, Mae, and Anna were sitting on the seat around the tree.
With only a word from Frances, Doris rose and took the arm she
extended, and both girls disappeared into the house.
Everybody drew a deep breath, and began to talk excitedly. Anna and Mae
were trembling.
“Let’s join those freshmen over there!” suggested Anna. “Suppose you
were taken--I’d be left sitting here alone, and I’d feel so funny!”
“All right,” agreed Mae; but before they had put their words into
action, Marian Guard and Lulu Davids, two other sophomore ΦΑΒs, came
out of the building and walked directly towards them. They went through
the same proceeding as Frances, and Anna and Mae accompanied them back
into the house.
Excitement now ran high. Who was to be the fourth girl? Undoubtedly
Ruth Henry! Where was she? Everybody looked around, but she was nowhere
to be seen.
“Of course, she’s in her room,” said one freshman; “and Ethel Todd’s
the only sophomore left, so she’ll go there to get her--and we’ll miss
seeing it. I call that mean!”
By quarter after three, the crowd became restless, and presuming that
Ruth had been asked from her room, they started to move towards the
door. Suddenly it opened, and Ethel Todd appeared. Passing the groups
almost as if she saw no one, she followed the path to the gym. The
girls watched her open the door, and disappear, and in a minute she
reappeared with--Marjorie Wilkinson!