“But she is not in her room. I went there just before the Pow-Wow.”
“She may have come back. Where else could she be?”
“Do you suppose?”
“No, I don’t. Jane would stand by her guns to the last ditch.”
“Yet, she was so determined not to run. Perhaps, after all, we were
foolish to force it on her.”
“No, I just weighed up all the standards, and decided we had to have
her for the good of this year’s work all round. And then I knew, if we
could convince her of that, she would not desert us. I know Jane will
come through.”
Judith and Grazia were punctuating their flight with such broken
sentences as the above. They had not yet discovered the whereabouts of
their candidate, and there were precious few moments left to accomplish
that important task without which success, their election would
promptly be declared null and void.
“Now, let us draw our breath, and incidentally our common sense,”
advised Judith, coming to a sudden halt. “If she is not in her room, I
know she is not in college; if she is not in college then where is
she?” reasoned the much perplexed young lady.
“Let’s ask Molly. She was brushing up the halls when supper room let
loose.” This seemed an opportune suggestion from Grazia.
“Yes, there was a telephone, girls, and yes, it was for Miss Allen and
yes, I saw her go out.” Molly did not wait long enough to be cross
examined.
“Which way? Did she walk? Did you hear her answer the phone?” Molly
with her dustpan and broom was further besieged.
From the meager information thus obtained it was plain Jane had left
the grounds.
Despair, thick and black, settled over the erstwhile politicians.
“But she could soon be back,” offered the sympathetic Molly. “Hark!
There’s a car now.”
The door opened slightly, and the portal framed a figure in blue! With
a wild rush the committee of two dashed to the door.
“Jane! Jane Allen!” called both, verifying their suspicion with a tug
at the now shrinking Jane.
“You are elected!” predicted Judith. “Come right along, and accept.
Resign later if you must, but accept now or we are lost.”
“One moment——” panted Jane. It was evident she had been experiencing
some trouble. She was flushed and excited.
“We haven’t the moment,” insisted Judith. “They are waiting for us with
the votes held up. Come on, Jane. Be a sport!” and like two young
giants the hitherto ordinary girls assumed the role of baggage men and
picked up Jane bodily, carrying her off to the expectant election room.
“Clear the way! She comes! Lo! The conquering hero comes!” shouted the
crowd at the first glimpse of the triumphant entry.
“Are you ready for the question?” called the election clerk, taking up
her delayed cue with alacrity.
“Question!” went up a shout.
“The result of the ballot is the unanimous election of Jane Allen,
president of Class 1920!”
Wild cheers completely submerged Oak Hall charging the atmosphere like
a veritable tidal wave.
The first great rush and roar over, the still billowing tide surged and
splashed into the inevitable class yell:
“I know a girl and her name is Jane,
A reebald, ribald rowdy;
The second verse is just the same,
A reebald, ribald rowdy!”
Thus, the improvised class yell, went on one verse after another all
being ended “Just the same” until throats gave out and feet merely
pounded, or patted, and kept the echoing time. Finally Jane was
accorded an opportunity of making herself heard, although it was rather
a meager opportunity, and uncertain in spots. She had just risen to her
feet when a cry from the “left wing” got the floor.
“We challenge this election!” shouted the opposition, led by Lillian
Summers. “The candidate never accepted.”
“She is here to accept,” fired back Judith as spokesman for the right.
“I accept the candidacy,” promptly called Jane, to the intense delight
and utter surprise of her strongest advocates. She had declared all
along she would not run. Even Judith was now thoroughly astounded.
“Hurrah, hurray! horroo!” rang out the call. Then the unquenchable:
“A reebald, ribald rowdy!
The hundredth verse is just the same——”
Judith pounded for order and after a few “flare-ups” had been
extinguished, she, as spokesman, went on with the proceedings.
All this time Judith and her followers were at a loss to account for
Marian Seaton. It was just like her to go off in comfort and expect her
abject contingent to do her troublesome bidding, and certainly, no one
could mistake the hand that ran the opposition; yet in spite of that
argument Marian might reasonably be expected to lend a hand through the
unexpected difficulty, and, at least, give the ship a push to start it
out on the troubled waters. But no Marian was either seen or heard.
Once more gaining what substituted for quiet Judith took the floor. She
was surprising herself with the newly acquired efficiency she so
deliberately demonstrated.
“We are fully prepared to submit to our officials all the records of
these proceedings, which have resulted in the election of Jane Allen
class president,” she proclaimed without a pause. “We can show that
every vote is properly signed, and that the report of the nominating
committee, and the acceptance of the candidate, complied with the time
rules. Our clerks will be happy to meet the faculty, at any time named
by that honorable body, and then and there produce the proofs of our
sincerity and obedience to the honorable rules of our beloved
Wellington.”
“Three cheers for our leader, Judith Stearns!” were then called for and
responded to with such ructious vehemence, as might have been expected
had the criers and cheer squad been turned loose at that moment. A full
half hour of the most strenuous kind of shouts and cheers had little
effect on dampening voices and ardour, when the call to cheer Judith
sounded anew.
Judith waved for silence in vain. Not in years had there been such a
remarkable manifestation at an election. Just once Judith caught the
glittering eye of Helen, who was down front with her contingent. It had
been carefully arranged that she should keep away from Judith and Jane,
to dispel suspicion regarding their actual relationship, but that the
little artist had worked for the result now being proclaimed to honor
Jane, none knew better than the new class president herself.
“Speech! Speech!” shouted the cheering squad. Then Jane stepped
forward.
“This honor,” she said, “I have not sought, but I am none the less
grateful. Why I have changed my mind from a positive declaration
against accepting to the position I now hold, is a matter—too
complicated for platform utterance. I feel, however, in justice to my
supporters, they should know, if they care to, the exact particulars.
Therefore, we will arrange a time for a private conference of the
leaders, as quickly as that time can be set apart. In the meantime be
assured of my gratitude, and my determination to support the traditions
of Wellington.”
“Cheers! Cheers!” demanded the shouting squad, and answering the call
came that unintelligible faulty rhyme:
“I know a girl and her name is Jane,
A reebald, ribald rowdy!
The hundredth verse is just the same
A reebald, ribald rowdy!
Janey, get a rat-trap bigger than a cat-trap!
Reebald, ribald! Siss-boom-bah!
Wellington! Wellington! Rah! Rah!”
“I never thought we could do it,” Drusilla Landers hissed into Jane’s
ear, as they filed out, at the same time giving her hand a
congratulatory squeeze. “You have no idea how the opposition worked. We
won by strategy—nothing else. They had us beaten in point of numbers
two to one. But they never got a chance to poll a vote.”
“Nor to candy a candidate,” assisted Jane, with a school girl’s
delightful disregard of common sense English.
“But they will make us pay for our victory,” forecast the sage
Drusilla.
“We put it over this time, and we have right on our side,” orated Jane.
“No need to climb the steeple until the flagpole sags.”
“Oh, our colors are flaunting to-night!” Drusilla made Jane hear, her
eyes sparkling with well-earned satisfaction.
“Ummmm!” Jane reciprocated the long “M” like a whisper through the
pines, serving to express more with its hum, than might have a whole
paragraph of mere ordinary cut out words.
In the day’s records no mention is made of the lecture. But it was
delivered, and the class attended, so the “condition” was met, if not
entirely appreciated. Sleep itself had to fight for its honors on that
night in Wellington.