The “fateful day,” as Betty’s father jokingly called it, had arrived. On
Monday morning there were great stirrings in the Lee menage. Betty’s
mother was up early, getting everybody else up on time, seeing that the
school credentials were at hand, ready to be taken by the children and
presented at the schools. Amy Lou, fortunately, slept on, not waking
until everybody else was at the breakfast table.
Betty started to get up when a mournful wail came from the bedroom. Amy
Lou had been Betty’s responsibility and she could not quite realize that
in school days now her first concern was to be her lessons, as her
mother’s custom desired it to be, though in moments of stress, Betty
knew well, she was to be on the “relief corps,” another of her father’s
expressions.
“Not you this time, daughter,” said Mrs. Lee, rising. “Finish your
breakfast and be ready when your father goes. You’d better take charge
of all the grades and give Doris and Dick their papers when they get
there.”
It was very exciting. What would the new big school be like? Dick and
Doris talked steadily during breakfast. “If old Bill was just here,”
said Dick, “I’d give him the Merry Ha‐ha about our going to a junior
high school!”
Doris settled her beads about her neck, looked down at her neat frock,
chosen as suitable by her mother, then thrusting her napkin by her
plate, she scampered, unexcused, from the table, to do last things.
Betty exchanged an amused glance with her father, who rose and went out
to bring up the car. Betty hastily carried a few dishes, from their
places, to the kitchen, as Mrs. Lee came out with a cross Amy Lou, and
then ran off herself to get ready.
It seemed no time at all before they were in the car, driving to the
school, which they had seen only in passing. The morning traffic was
heavy and swift. Cars were making their rapid way in the direction of
“town.” Street cars clattered. Trucks and buses avoided them by inches
only. Overhead there was the occasional roar of a plane from the flying
field.
At last they had reached the green campus of the school. “I’m glad we go
here,” said Doris, “instead of to that school we saw where the grounds
are all gravel.”
“That was a new building, Doris,” said her Dad, “the grounds are
probably not finished.”
“I don’t think so, Papa,” returned Doris. “You know how the school board
man at home said that there was no use in sodding our new school grounds
because the boys would spoil it all playing ball and things. And they
put gravel on it, and every time you fell down running it hurt like
everything.”
Doris had no reply to this, for Mr. Lee was stopping before the concrete
sidewalk that bordered the school grounds. “Hop out, children,” said he.
“I’m sorry that I can’t stop with you. You know what the buildings are,
however. Inquire your way to the office of the principal, you know. Sure
you know what cars to take to get home?”
“Yes, Father,” Betty answered. “Dick promised to wait for Doris; so if
they can’t find me they’ll go home together. My, what a crowd!”
Mr. Lee glanced with some fatherly pride at the little group of three
that walked from the car to the entrance of the grounds. There a long
walk, paved and lined with beautiful shrubbery, led to the impressive
front of the building that spread so widely with its wings and corners.
Then he detached himself from the rest of the cars that were either
drawing up to discharge pupils or were parked in a long row along the
curb. The Lee children were already lost in the kaleidoscope of moving
boys and girls, of all ages, heights, and costumes, most of them very
nice‐looking, Betty’s father thought. He hoped that there would be no
trouble about their entrance papers. Mrs. Lee could scarcely risk taking
Amy Lou to the school, and he had told her that the children might just
as well begin to depend on themselves, even if the city was new to them.
Nevertheless, it would have been better if it had been possible for a
parent to accompany them, and no one knew that better than Mr. Lee. The
hurry of their becoming settled had not been easy for any of them and a
city offered many dangers, especially those of traffic. But as the fever
of hurry had not yet infected them, it was likely that they would be
careful in crossing streets and would observe the traffic regulations.
He was glad to see that a traffic officer had been stationed at the
school crossing.
“We look as well as most of them,” said Doris, though rather doubtfully,
as she looked admiringly at a tall girl who was strolling by with a
youth as tall as she. They were laughing and talking and the girl was
wearing a silk dress as pretty and stylish, as light in color and as
good, as Betty’s “Sunday frock,” Doris said.
“Yes,” said Betty, “but there’s every sort, and our pretty summer
dresses that Mother made look all right. There–see that awfully pretty
girl, Doris. Her green dress is trimmed with white organdy exactly like
your blue one!”
The two younger children left Betty to go around to the entrance of
their own separate building. Betty handed each of them the envelope with
the respective credits and grades and then went up the steps with her
own in her hand. Mercy, what a babel of voices! Betty stopped still and
looked around. Good! There were all sorts of notices posted. She read
them. That long line of boys and girls must lead to the “office.”
“Freshmen go to Assembly Hall,” she read. Now where was the “Assembly
Hall?” Oh, that must be it, where all those younger looking boys and
girls were going. She followed, joining the stream of boys and girls
that in groups or singly entered the wide doors.
Oh, what a fine, big hall! Was this really a public school? Facing her
was the wide stage with its handsome velvet curtains, and my, all those
pipes must be of a big pipe organ! Yes, there was the place for the
organist at the side.
Betty slipped into a seat. Some one was reading names and telling them
what to do. She would sit there and listen. It was pleasantly cool in
the immense hall. Although it was morning, the September day was already
warm. Betty felt a little confused, but soon concentrated her attention
upon what was going on. Girls and boys were leaving the hall at times.
Finally she bethought herself of the fact that her name could not
possibly be read out, since they had never heard of her. A girl who sat
beside her looked friendly. She would ask. Yes, these were the names of
all the freshmen who were coming in from other schools or the junior
high right here. They had turned in their credits and were assigned to
“home rooms and so forth.”
Now what were “home rooms,” and what did “and so forth” include? She
could not ask the person who was reading the names. She hated to ask
questions of any other pupil near her. She would seem like such a
“dummy.” But she must find out what to do. She would go out and see if
she should go to the “office” first.
Quietly Betty slipped out of the seat and went out into the noisy hall.
She went near the door and peeped into the office. Some one in the line
thought that she was going to get by and nodded in the direction of the
rear. It was a “snippy” sort of a look, Betty thought, that this girl
directed toward her. Betty merely looked at her with a contemplative
gaze and nodded in understanding. She would not say anything either. She
could see what was going on. That was the principal, she supposed, busy
with students. There were several teachers or assistants of some sort
there. Yes, this must be what she must do; besides, her father had told
her to go to the office. It was that sign that mislead her. My, what a
long line. Would she ever get any attention from the principal? But
Betty walked back and took her place in line, intending to ask some one
in it what this line was “supposed to be waiting for.”
But there were two or three boys, perfectly strange to her, of course,
just ahead of her. And behold, two very tall lads walked up and took
their places behind her. The first one was such a fine‐looking boy, with
a good face, indeed, rather striking features, clear grey eyes, “almost
blue,” Betty thought, as she gave him a quick glance. He was dressed
suitably and neatly, yet looked “very stylish,” Betty thought, and a
silk handkerchief peeped from his pocket. The conversation of the two
boys helped Betty through the first part of her wearisome wait.
“Going in for athletics this year, Ted?” asked the “other boy,” who was
not quite so interesting, Betty thought, though he had a pleasant
boyish, face, too. He was coatless and had his shirt sleeves rolled up
above his elbows. But a neat tie finished his soft collar and he looked
as fresh and clean as possible.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Harry, swimming, of course, and the
usual gym work, perhaps. But Mother wants me to be in the orchestra this
year and that takes a lot of time. To tell the truth, I’d like to have a
little time for my lessons!”
“I’ve _got_ to have,” assented Harry. “I worked my freshman year, but
last year wasn’t so good, and Dad says he won’t stand for it. My grades
weren’t so bad, but you should have heard the razzing I got! Dad took
the card and went through the grades out loud.
“‘That grade in English from the son of a teacher!’
“‘Eighty in Latin, when you ought to have had ninety at least!’
“I mustered up grit enough to tell him that Latin was hard and that
eighty was a pretty good grade and that I hadn’t failed in anything. But
did that stop him? It did not.
“‘Fail! Fail? Hum! Mathematics, not so bad. Pretty respectable showing
in science,’–‘well, make a better showing next year or I might have to
put you to work.’ He gave me a quizzical smile, at least that is what
Mother called it, and handed me back my card. Gee, sometimes I wish he
_would_ put me to work, but after all, if you can get by with, your
lessons, the old place here looks pretty good.”
“I’ll say it does today. How long do you suppose we’ll have to stand
here?”
“Until after lunch time, that’s what.”
Betty, who had scarcely been able to keep from laughing out when “Harry”
had been impersonating his father, so good and funny a performance he
had made of it, now sighed. She was tired already. It was worse than
waiting in line at the one moving picture house that their little town
had boasted. She changed her weight, a light one, from one foot to the
other. She fiddled with the long white envelope in her hand and once
opened it to peep inside and make sure that its contents were still
there.
But that was just the beginning. She held her place in line, wondering
what the two boys to whose conversation she had listened were there to
do. Perhaps there had to be some change in their work. But they talked
about everything else. Finally Betty thought she would “just have to go
and sit down somewhere to rest,” but she kept standing in spite of her
real fatigue. She was toward the end of the line and only two or three
persons had followed the boys at first; then a few scattered additions
had been made. A few in front had dropped out.
Finally some one came from the office to make an announcement to the
line. Only a few more would be interviewed before lunch; and after
lunch, those who were new would be seen first. Others need not take
their place in line until later, as all changes of schedule would be
handled later in the day.
Immediately the line ceased to be one, as its components vanished. Betty
again went into the auditorium and sank into a seat to rest. What was it
that tired her so standing in line? She was probably just sort of tired
from everything, all the change and excitement and the responsibility of
getting Amy Lou down on the train, though, that hadn’t turned out to be
so bad. Luckily some one near her was discussing lunch; for Betty was
hungry and did not enjoy the thought of going without what had always
been the family dinner. It had been easy enough in the village for her
father to come home from his business and for the children to come from
school, returning in plenty of time for the afternoon session. Now it
would be different indeed. Mother had said that dinner would be at
night, as Father would have his lunch down town; and on the street car
it would take the children almost half an hour to reach home, to say
nothing of extra street‐car fare. There was to be lunch served at the
school, they understood, but would there be any today?
“No,” the girl behind her was saying in a low tone, though the names had
long since been read out and the freshmen dismissed to the “home rooms.”
Only scattered groups of resting pupils were here and there in the
seats. Betty was in the next to the last row and three girls had just
entered the last row together.
“I’m a wreck from standing in that line,” said the first one, as she
dropped into a seat. “Aren’t they going to serve lunch today?”
Then came the answer, for which Betty listened. “No; don’t you remember
that we never have lunch at first?”
“Well, I’ve only one year to remember, May, and I never did get anything
straight when I was a freshman, at first anyhow.”
Betty’s heart warmed with a fellow feeling.
“I certainly wish that we could have one of those good lunches, but I
suppose it won’t kill us to starve for once. Let’s go down to you know
where and get a Swiss chocolate sundae. We can get back in time.”
“I’d rather not, May; besides I’ve only got my street‐car fare and ten
cents, I think.”
“I’ll lend you some more,” suggested May.
“Can’t possible this time; too tired, besides. There used to be a place
opposite the school. What’s become of that? I used to get chocolate bars
and sandwiches there.”
“New building across the street. Well, if you aren’t going, I am. Shall
I bring you something? Maybe I’ll have a sandwich, too.”
“If you can get one for ten cents–no, here are some coppers. Hurrah!”
Evidently the girl behind Betty was emptying her store of small funds
into the hand of the other girl. There was giggling and a scrambling
after a copper that had dropped and rolled. Then one girl left and the
other strolled over to join a group of girls by a window.
Betty wished that she had brought a chocolate bar which by the irony of
fate she had taken out of her bag to leave it home! But she could go
without a meal if she had to do it. She could get something to eat as
soon as she reached home.
Rested now, she thought she would go over to the building which housed
the junior high school and see if Doris and Dick were also waiting
around. It was quite a little walk, or seemed so to Betty, but it was
interesting when she reached the place and entered it. Scarcely any
children were to be seen. She walked through vacant halls and decided
that Doris and Dick had already gone home. She hoped that her mother
would not be worried about her. There was no way of getting her word,
though she had seen a telephone in the office. But of course she could
not use that.
Time slipped by in some fashion. She went back to the auditorium, now
about deserted. She watched the time, determined to be one of the first
at the office door, and as all things come to an end at last, she found
herself talking to a sober, dignified, yet kindly man in the office,
arranging her schedule or, more properly, answering questions about the
work she had covered, and receiving a “slip” to present to her “home
room teacher” the next day.
It was all more or less puzzling to the young freshman from away; but
she understood the next step and where she was to report on the
following day. That would have to be enough. A somewhat breathless,
excited, and very hungry Betty reached home at about two o’clock in the
afternoon, welcomed by her mother as a returning prodigal and directed
to where she would find the “fatted calf” or a more attractive
substitute.