“Shh! Ssh! Careful!”
“Keep back, Ted. They’ll see your feet!”
“No bigger than yours!”
“Hush there, you two rowdies. Do you want to have us all captured?”
“Larry is pinching me!”
“Never saw such babies. We will run you all home, if you don’t behave.
I wish I had the other line to lead. They would—obey.”
“Hush, kids. We’ll be expelled. But isn’t it too funny?”
“Might be for you, but I’m choked. If I don’t get this mask off soon
I’ll collapse and you’ll have a real funeral.”
Titters and gasps, muffled giggles and escaping “S-sish!” like a steam
valve leaking noise, the sophs and their co-workers among the freshmen
were crowding around Oak Hall for the all-absorbing election. As usual
on this occasion the freshies were in a panic of fun. They knew nothing
of the agony of being captured by the juniors, and the masked line with
the perfect disguise of gym uniform, and the head winders, found more
ways of giving expression to forbidden mirth than even their giggling
reputation credited them with. “The Babes,” ever fractious, were simply
exasperating to-night, and Judith, with her scouts, more than once
threatened to drive them home to bed at the very next whimper.
Directly back of Oak Hall the plotters plotted. They were to assemble
there, rush into the hall at a given signal, and put the election over
before the other contingent gained their bearings.
“All counted?” whispered Judith.
“Yes,” replied Dozia Dalton, “and some to spare.”
“Sure they’re ours?” cautioned Judith again.
“They had the grip,” replied Dozia.
“And the pass word?”
“I didn’t try it.”
“We have to—spies could defeat us.”
“All right. Wait,” and the fearless Dozia crept through the line of
masked figures until she reached number forty-eight. Here she halted.
“Grip?” she whispered, and the figure gripped.
“Password?” she ordered again, but no word came.
“Give the password,” she hissed into the ear—this time very distinctly.
But only a mumble came from the now shifting mask.
“Step out!” ordered Dozia, and the girl in place “forty-eight”
instantly ducked the line and ran toward the lake, Dozia close at her
heels.
“You may as well stop!” called the soph. “We will get you if we have to
put off this election to do it.”
But the figure only yanked its bloomers higher above knees, giving more
freedom for action, and clearing every sort of woody obstacle, dashed
on. Dozia gave a muffled “Coo-ee.” She required help to overtake the
spy. And the chimes were striking seven—the hour of attack! A runner
known by her stout stick and shorter skirt answered the coo-ee call
immediately. When within hearing Dozia ordered:
“Go ahead! Don’t mind me! I will take care of Forty-Eight,” and back to
the now moving line the runner made her way to relay Dozia’s answer.
“Now!” signalled Judith. “One, two, three! Go!”
The rush that followed this order did full credit to the wild occasion.
Scrambling, pushing, urging, shoving, all fighting to gain entrance to
Oak Hall, and there to hold the fort against the opposition, the mass
of determined girls forced their way on.
Those who actually fell by the wayside were automatically picked up,
and carried on with the tide, so that once the hall was reached it took
but a few seconds to surround the ballot boxes, secure the official
blackboard, and begin the election before the other side had recovered
from its shock of surprise, caused by the commotion.
Judith was chairman of candidates. It was her duty to report on
nominations. Edith Lee and Minette Brockton were clerks of election;
Dorothy Blyden and Grazia St Clair, inspectors. Judith jumped to the
platform over the foot lights (unlighted to-night) and reached the
rostrum without the slightest hint of formality. Forthwith she shouted:
“We are here to elect the class president for ’20. We have a candidate
unanimously chosen. I shall give the name to the clerk.”
She then passed to Edith Lee a slip of paper. From this Edith promptly
read:
“Jane Allen, ’20.”
There was a roar of applause, and then followed a mumble of objection.
The applause attempted to drown the call for an opportunity to be
heard.
“Madam Chairman! Madam Chairman! Mrs. Chair! The chair! Hear! Hear!”
“Prepare your ballots!” came the order from the chair, ignoring the
call from the floor.
There was no need to give this last call, for scarcely Judith uttered
the word “prepare” than the girls, all primed for the cue, made another
rush for the ballot box.
By this time the other side had “gained consciousness,” as Minette
expressed it, and were massing to form a blockade. To reach the ballot
box, deposit the votes every one of which was correctly signed, then to
seize the box, count the votes and announce the winner would constitute
a legal election. And some work!
In spite of the scramble and seeming disorder, every turn of the
proceeding was carried out according to parliamentary rules—all but one
detail: the candidate had not accepted the nomination.
“Where is she? Where is Jane Allen? Jane, dig in!” came shout after
shout, as the girls pressed their way to the little box, therein to
deposit the fateful slip of yellow paper. But Jane did not appear.
Nevertheless the voting went on, wildly, madly.
Groups of the opposition surrounded groups of the less experienced
girls—those among the freshmen, but captives were quickly released by
the forceful breaking in of the sophs. The call for Jane grew wilder
and more persistent.
“Is she hiding?” someone asked.
“Jane Allen hide!” came back the indignant denial. “You don’t know your
candidate.”
“Where is she? Produce her, or we shall challenge the election!” This
last threat came from the gallery, and was known to have been uttered
in a faculty voice. Now Jane must really be produced.
“Quick! Get the boxes. They are all in,” gasped the panting Judith.
“Jump into the side room and get counting before the others can line
up, and we will go for Jane. We will not come back without her.”
“Fraud! Fraud! Stuffed boxes! Unparliamentary! Against the rules!
Where’s your candidate?” came the repeated and reiterated shouts until
even the lustiest among them cracked her voice and fell back on groans.
“They can’t do it,” insisted a cry for the opposition.
“Yes, we can. We will have our candidate here on time to accept,” came
back the equally determined rejoinder.
“Clear the floor. Balloting is over for the count. Polls closed! Time’s
up, clear the floor for counting!” came the well-known official voice
from the gallery.
“Shame! Outrage! Fraud!” muttered the vanquished horde, but Judith and
Grazia were scouring for Jane.
Without the presence of the candidate she could not be legally elected.
But where on earth was the invisible and elusive Jane!