PRIZE-SPEAKING
Jean spent the spring vacation with Elizabeth up on "Olympus," as
she called their hilltop village, and she found the beauty and new
experiences of the spring as fascinating as those of the winter.
Although every waking hour seemed filled to the brim, still it was a
restful change and the two girls returned to college with new strength
and enthusiasm to begin the last term of the year. They would need
it all, too, for this is the hardest term of the year, with the hot,
drooping days of May and June, and still hotter nights, when studying
seems almost impossible and one is content to sit in the darkness and
watch the stars and dream such dreams as float through college girls'
heads on nights in June, when all the world is theirs.
On the Monday after they returned to college, both girls went up to
oratory class in the afternoon and sat back to enjoy the hour, knowing
it was not their turn to mount the platform and hold forth. Jean sat
near the open window and was breathing in the balmy air and watching
some greedy robins snatch at the worms in the damp, new grass. She had
almost forgotten there was such a thing as oratory until Miss Moulton's
clear, penetrating voice brought her back to consciousness again.
"Of course you know, young ladies, that prize-speaking is an annual
event at Ashton, and it is a great honor to participate in it. Any
member of the oratory classes is eligible. In the freshman divisions I
have made it a rule that every girl must do one of two things: either
she must learn a new selection or choose one already learned during the
year and present it to the committee of the faculty chosen to judge
the preliminary speakers; or she must write an original poem or prose
selection and present it before the freshman oratory classes. The
preliminary prize-speaking will take place in the chapel on the evening
of May twelfth at eight o'clock. The annual prize-speaking will take
place at three o'clock on the afternoon of June sixth. The classes will
meet May twenty-eighth for the afternoon of original work. I hope you
will all take great interest in this work and feel free to consult me
at any time about it. Unless there are some questions to be asked now,
we will consider the class excused."
As the girls left the class-room there was but one topic of
conversation, for Miss Moulton had filled their minds with but one
thought. Neither one of her propositions pleased the majority of the
girls, for one looked as difficult as the other. Of course a few were
delighted with what she had said, for they had been anticipating the
event and in their hearts had secret hopes of being the prize winner,
even though there were upper-class girls to compete with them. The
chapel steps looked so attractive in the afternoon sunshine that three
or four of the girls wandered over there to sit down for a few moments
to discuss the question.
"What are you going to do, Jean?" said Anne Cockran as she limped up to
join the girls. Although it had been a long time since her accident,
she could not walk easily yet.
"Don't ask me, Anne; I don't know. I don't like the idea of exhibiting
my limited oratorical ability before the faculty, but positively I
haven't an original idea in my head. I'll have to think it over."
"Why, nonsense, Jean," said Bess Johnson, "everybody knows that
original sonnet you wrote for Miss Whiting last month was the cleverest
thing in our whole division. When Miss Whiting condescends to praise
anything we freshmen do, you can take it from me that it's pretty good.
You don't need to hesitate about going in for the original stunt."
"Elizabeth," said Anne, "you've just got to try for the prize, for
there isn't a girl in our whole division that can hold a candle to
you. If you give that little poem, 'Carcasson,' with which you won
Miss Moulton's heart last term, you'll melt the faculty to tears, and
they'll put you on the finals before you've finished the second verse."
"Oh, Anne, you flatterer, why I couldn't compete with you or a
half-dozen more of the girls in our division, to say nothing of
the upper-class girls," replied Elizabeth, smiling. "I'm trying for
credit in my German, and perhaps history, and it takes every spare
moment I can get to do my collateral reading. It seems as though Miss
Evans tried to see how much work she could pile on us. I think I'll
try at the preliminaries, though, because it's easier than working
on something original. I can give something I learned last term,
'Carcasson,' if you all like that so well."
"Like it?" said Jean. "Why, Beth, it's by far the best thing anybody
has done in class this whole year and you've just got to give it, and I
know you'll make the finals, and if you do, why, we'll all insist upon
your trying for all your worth for the prize. Why shouldn't a freshman
win it? Think of the honor for the class. You've been saying lately you
wished you could do something for 1915, and here's your chance. Why, I
think it's an honor just to be on the finals even if you don't win the
prize. Who knows how many are generally chosen?"
"Eight, I think," said Bess Johnson. "I was looking over Edith
Thayer's memorabilia the other day and saw a last year's programme.
Edith spoke last year, but didn't win a prize. As I remember it, there
were eight speakers. Anyway, there were somewhere near that number."
"What is the prize, Bess?" asked Anne. "Miss Moulton forgot to say
anything about that, and I think it's the most important item."
"The first prize is twenty-five dollars in gold and the second and
third ten dollars each. Of course it's the honor more than the money
that counts," said Bess, whose idea of money values was very hazy,
being abundantly supplied by an indulgent father. Although Elizabeth
said nothing she thought the twenty-five dollars would help her a great
deal if, by any chance, it came her way, for she needed a new dress and
hat for class-day, but she hated to ask her father for anything more
this year.
"Well," said Jean, "this loafing here will never do for me. It's
society meeting to-night and I've got a theme to write before supper.
If any of you want to see me, come right down to the room and make
yourselves comfortable, but don't talk to me until I've finished my
theme. I think the subjects get worse and worse every week. Where do
you suppose Miss Whiting ever finds them? I should think her poor head
would ache many a time before she found some to really suit her. I
wonder if she ever corrects half of the themes."
"I doubt it," said Bess; "they say Mary Dudley corrects the themes in
the daily theme course, for she's doing special work in the English for
her degree."
All the girls seemed to have plenty to do, and Jean went down to 45
alone and worked on her theme for the next day and finished it just as
the supper bell rang.
When the preliminary prize-speaking took place, it was surprising how
many entries there were, especially among the freshmen, for undoubtedly
most of them had decided that this was the lesser of the two evils
offered them by Miss Moulton. From the large number there were eight
chosen for the finals and among them was Elizabeth Fairfax, the only
freshman thus honored. There were three seniors, two juniors, two
sophomores and the one freshman, and 1915 was jubilant over the fact
that one of its members was chosen. When Elizabeth first heard of it
she was a little frightened and declared she never could do it, but
when she saw how all the freshmen felt the honor that was hers in being
chosen to represent them, she determined to enter the contest with all
the best that was in her and prove to them that she was as loyal to
1915 as any of the rest of them.
She spent hours and hours with Miss Moulton and finally decided upon
a selection which, like the others, was to be kept secret until the
programme was announced. Every minute that she could spare from her
regular work she put upon her selection, and as the fatal day drew
near she went again and again to the chapel and mounted the platform
to move the empty seats with her eloquence. Miss Moulton gave all the
girls equal coaching, and worked harder, perhaps, than all the girls
together. When she had heard the last girl rehearse her selection for
the last time, she closed the chapel door behind her with a bang and
locking it said to herself and the clinging ivy on the tower wall, "I
wish there were eight prizes so they all could have one, for they all
deserve one, still I hope--"
But she did not finish, for in the gathering dusk she recognized
Elizabeth Fairfax's slender figure advancing toward her. "Oh, Miss
Moulton, can I have just one more rehearsal to-night? There's one place
toward the end that troubles me."
"No, Miss Fairfax, not to-night; you are tired and nervous and you must
do nothing more. Take my advice and think no more of your selection
to-night; go to bed early and have a good night's sleep and to-morrow
morning you will have forgotten all about these imaginary troubles.
It's always darkest just before the dawn, you know, so let's not think
any more about prize-speaking. I'm very tired to-night, too, but I'm
going home to read some really thrilling detective story or something
equally absorbing until I get sleepy, and then away to bed in spite
of all the work I ought to do. I advise you not to do any studying
to-night, for you are excused from to-morrow's lessons. Good night,
Miss Fairfax. I wish you a restful night and success to-morrow," and
the two went their separate ways.
There could not have been a more beautiful June day than the one
chosen for prize-speaking. The sun shed its warmth and brightness over
everything, and the little green leaves danced merrily in the soft
summer wind. The rain of a few days before had freshened the grass and
the flowers until it seemed as though they were outdoing themselves
for this special occasion. Merry little red and gray squirrels ran up
and down the great tall trees and then across the wide paths, out of
sight to another tree, and some of the bolder birds sang lustily as if
proud of their share in the day's festivities. All nature seemed to
be clapping its hands to applaud the eight nervous speakers concealed
somewhere in the rear of the chapel.
Prize-speaking Day is properly considered the forerunner of Class Day
and Commencement, hence the friends of the college make every effort
to attend this annual event. Long before three o'clock the seating
capacity of the chapel seemed taxed to its utmost, and the gallery had
to be opened to accommodate the waiting throng. Members of the various
oratory classes had been chosen as ushers and were pretty indeed in
their white dresses, with sprays of green ivy twisted in their hair,
and they carried batons wound with white and green ribbons. Jean was
one of the two representatives of the freshman class and was enjoying
every moment of her ushering, for it was the first time she had ever
served in this capacity, as only the upper-class girls ushered at
Vespers on Sunday afternoons.
A few minutes after three o'clock, Miss Emerson welcomed the guests
to the exercises of the afternoon and announced the entire programme
of the days to come. Then she informed them that the three judges
were from neighboring colleges and at the close of the speaking she
would announce their decision regarding the prize. In conclusion, she
asked that there be no applause, and then took her seat with the other
members of the faculty in the front row of seats usually occupied by
the seniors. One after another of the speakers came upon the platform,
did their very best, thrilled their listeners and then took their seats
on the front row of the annex which had been reserved for them.
Last on the programme was Elizabeth Fairfax and she was to give
Tennyson's "Lady of Shalot." When she came upon the platform she looked
very small and white, and her simple muslin dress was the one she had
worn the year before at her high-school graduation. Instead of coming
to the front of the platform as the others had done, she stood back
almost in the center of the stage, where it was a little dark in spite
of the brilliance of the outdoor world. She stood for a moment without
uttering a sound, and more than one of the vast audience thought she
must have become stagestruck and forgotten the lines, but soon her
sweet, clear voice began:
"On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;"
And she held every listener spellbound as she told the sad sweet story
of the Lady of Shalot as though she were inspired, and when she
finished with:
"But Launcelot mused a little space:
He said, 'She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalot.'"
For a moment there was absolute silence, and then followed tremendous
applause in spite of what Miss Emerson had said. Every one looked at
her neighbor as much as to say, "There's not a question but that she
deserves the prize. I never heard anything like it."
So there was not great surprise a little later when Miss Emerson in
her quiet way announced the prize-winners and first called upon Miss
Elizabeth Fairfax to come to the platform. In presenting her with the
tiny box which held the twenty-five dollars in gold, she congratulated
her upon her excellent work and said that for the first time in her
memory the first prize had been given to a freshman, consequently she
might be doubly proud of what she had done. Elizabeth thanked her, and
very white and trembling took her place with the other speakers.
This ended the exercises and as the audience arose many went forward to
offer their congratulations. Jean seized Elizabeth and whispered, "You
were just wonderful, but I knew you'd do it. Oh, I'm so proud of you
and I wish Dick could have been here," and she gave her place to a long
line of girls and faculty, who were waiting their turn to speak to her.
When Elizabeth went up to her room from the supper-table that night she
was tired but very happy, for her dream of doing something worth while
for 1915 was realized. She walked slowly down the corridor and opened
the door, expecting to find Jean there, for she did not see her in the
reading-room with the other girls as she passed by the open door. She
did not see Jean in 45, but she gave a little gasp at the sight which
did meet her gaze. The study-table which usually stood in the center of
the room was drawn up between the couch and Elizabeth's desk. It had
been cleared of the books and lamp which usually adorned it and was one
mass of brilliant bloom. There were roses and carnations and sweet
peas and lilies of the valley filling the room with their sweetness.
For several moments Elizabeth just gazed and then walking up to the
flowers found there were cards attached to each bouquet. The roses were
from Jean, the carnations from Miss Hooper, the sweet peas from Merton
House girls, and the lilies from Miss Moulton. Elizabeth had never had
so many flowers in all her life before and could not quite believe they
were all hers. She buried her face in the great American Beauty roses
and was whispering a secret to them when Jean came out from the bedroom.
"Well, little room-mate, what do you think of yourself now? I couldn't
stay away another minute. The flowers came while we were at supper
and I hustled upstairs the minute I was through so I could have them
arranged before you came. Then after everything was ready I waited and
waited, but I thought you never would come. When at last I heard you
coming down the hall, I hid in the bedroom to see what you would do.
You looked just about as surprised as when Miss Emerson called you to
the platform this afternoon."
"Of course I was surprised, Jean. I never had so much happen to me in
one day before in all my life and I can hardly believe it's true. How
I wish Father and Brother could know all about it and see what you've
done for me! I must sit down and write to them now so the letter will
go out the first thing in the morning."
"Before you write your letter, Elizabeth, I want to ask you something.
Come over here on your couch and sit down, for you are tired, and we
can enjoy the flowers there just as well as standing up in the middle
of the room."
"All right, Jean, but let me take one of your roses with me. It's the
first time I've ever had an American Beauty of my very own. How good
you were to give them to me! You must have known how badly I have
wanted one."
In a moment the two girls sat down upon Elizabeth's couch and in
Elizabeth's hand was a beautiful, long-stemmed rose. "What are you
going to do this summer, Beth?" asked Jean.
"I don't quite know yet," Elizabeth answered. "I feel as though I
were needed at home so that mother can go away to visit her people in
Vermont, but I wish I could find some work to do, for I want to earn
the money for next year to help father all I can. Some of the girls are
talking about waiting on the table at the beach or at the mountains
and I thought of applying, too. Christine Newell is going to the White
Mountains and says she went last year and earned fifty dollars. She
wants me to go there with her, but I haven't decided yet."
"Before you decide, Elizabeth, I want to tell you something, and
perhaps it will alter your plans a little. Miss Hooper is going abroad
for the summer and has invited me to go with her. When father was here
I told him about it and my decision to stay at Ashton for the four
years. He was so delighted that he consented to the trip abroad for
the summer and said I might take any girl with me that I chose. Now I
have chosen you, Elizabeth, and I want you to say you will go to the
British Isles with Miss Hooper and me for your vacation. I have known
about it ever since father was here and it has been awfully hard to
keep it a secret, but I wanted to wait until after prize-speaking, for
I made up my mind that if you didn't win the first prize I should offer
you this as a consolation prize, and if you did win the prize then this
would be my own special prize. What do you say, will you accept my
prize, too?"
At first Elizabeth could not speak and just looked straight at Jean as
if to determine whether or not she was jesting. "Why, Jean Cabot! What
are you talking about? I spend a whole summer in Europe? Why, you must
be dreaming. I've never been out of New England and don't expect to go
to Europe till I've taught years and years. Why, all the money I have
in the world is this twenty-five dollars I won to-day and I need that
to buy my class-day dress and hat and shoes. Where do you suppose I'd
ever get the money? Why, it takes more than it does to go to college."
"You big goosie, you don't understand. You needn't consider the money;
I'm going to take you for my companion and it isn't to cost you a
penny. Father would like to go himself and would if it wasn't for
business, so he wants you to go with me in his place. Don't you see now
what I mean?"
"Yes, Jean, but why do you want me? There are so many of the other
girls like Peggy and Natalie and Sallie, who have traveled and know
more about the world than I. I'm pretty green, you know, when it comes
to society."
"Nonsense, Elizabeth; if I hadn't wanted you more than any one else I
shouldn't have asked you. Is it 'yes' or 'no'? Quick!"
"Why, you take my breath away, Jean. I can't believe you want me to go
with you."
"Yes, I do, I tell you, and you must say 'yes,' for I shan't take any
other answer. Now write your letter home and tell them what you are
going to do, or rather get their permission to do what you wish to do.
After you finish the letter we'll take it down to the office and then
go over to Miss Hooper's room for a minute. You want to thank her for
the flowers she sent you, and I want to tell her that you are going
with us. She will tell you what her plans are, and from now on we must
do a lot of reading with her about the places we are to visit, for
we don't want to appear to be perfect ignoramuses in the land of our
forefathers. Of course you know English history from A to Z, but I can
never tell one king from another and always mix up all the battles and
wars, so it's good hard reading from now on for me."
"Of course you know I'd like to go, Jean, but it's so sudden I can't
quite grasp it all, but I'll write home and tell them all about it, and
when I hear from them I can tell you definitely."
"I'm going to write a letter to your father this very minute, too,
and tell him what I think about the matter. Let's see who will finish
first."
Both pens scratched away at a merry rate, and each girl found so much
to say that the college clock struck eight before either one realized
it. "There, I've finished," said Jean. "How about you?"
"I have a little more on this page and then I'll be ready. You collect
the letters on the hall windows and go downstairs and register and I'll
be through by that time."
After the letters were dropped into the box outside the post office,
Jean exclaimed, "There, that's off my mind! Now to tell Miss Hooper."
They found Miss Hooper alone in her study lying on the couch because of
a severe headache. The girls insisted that she remain there in spite of
her protests. "We're only going to stay a minute, anyway, Miss Hooper.
I've come to tell you that Elizabeth has consented to travel with us
this summer." Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, but Jean
began again, "She hasn't really said she would go, but she's written
home and after she hears from her father she'll tell us 'yes' pretty
quickly. Won't you, Elizabeth?"
"I think it's wonderful, Miss Hooper, but it's just like Jean, always
doing something to give pleasure to other people. I want to thank you,
too, for the beautiful flowers you sent me. I don't deserve all the
good things that have come to me to-day."
"If you didn't deserve them, dear, I am sure they never would come to
you. We shall be a very congenial trio, I am sure, this summer, and I
wish you both would come to see me Wednesday evening next so we can
talk over our plans. I have a list of reading to give to you. Jean
tells me you are a lover of history and literature, Elizabeth, so
perhaps you have read my list already. If so, we shall depend upon you
for a great deal of our information, for there is very little time left
in which to do a great deal of work. I am sorry I do not feel better
to-night, for we might have begun now."
"No, Miss Hooper, we must not stay a moment longer," said Jean.
"Elizabeth is tired, too, and we both have a little studying to do
before ten o'clock bell. I hope your head will be better in the
morning. Good night."
"Good night to both of you, and thank you for coming," said Miss
Hooper, and the two girls left Wellington and strolled slowly homeward
in the shimmering moonlight. As they neared Merton, Elizabeth broke the
silence. "I hate to go indoors, Jean, and have this splendid day end. I
am inclined to believe it's all been a dream. Pinch me and let me see
if I'm really awake."
"Oh, you're awake all right, Elizabeth," said Jean, but she gave
Elizabeth's arm a vigorous pinch to assure her that she really was
awake. "It's only the beginning of a whole summer of splendid days if
you'll only say you'll go with us."
"I'll go, of course," said Elizabeth, "if father thinks it's all
right," and the two girls left the summer moonlight behind them and
climbed the stairs to 45.