E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 31387-h.htm or 31387-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/31387/pg31387-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/31387/31387-h.zip)
BETTY WALES
FRESHMAN
by
MARGARET WARDE
Author of
Betty Wales, Sophomore
Betty Wales, Junior
Betty Wales, Senior
Betty Wales, B. A.
Betty Wales & Co.
Betty Wales on the Campus
Betty Wales Decides
[Illustration: "I'M IN A DREADFUL FIX"]
The Penn Publishing
Company Philadelphia
1921
Copyright 1904
by
The Penn Publishing Company
Betty Wales, Freshman
Contents
I First Impressions 7
II Beginnings 21
III Dancing Lessons and a Class-Meeting 35
IV Whose Photograph? 50
V Up Hill--and Down 63
VI Letters Home 80
VII A Dramatic Chapter 95
VIII After the Play 112
IX Paying the Piper 128
X A Rumor 146
XI Mid-years and a Dust-Pan 166
XII A Triumph for Democracy 185
XIII Saint Valentine's Assistants 208
XIV A Beginning and a Sequel 233
XV At the Great Game 255
XVI A Chance to Help 279
XVII An Ounce of Prevention 299
XVIII Into Paradise--and Out 321
XIX A Last Chance 337
XX Loose Threads 355
BETTY WALES
CHAPTER I
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
"Oh, dear, what if she shouldn't meet me!" sighed Betty Wales for the
hundredth time at least, as she gathered up her bags and umbrella, and
followed the crowd of noisy, chattering girls off the train.
"So long, Mary. See you to-morrow."
"Get a carriage, Nellie, that's a dear. You're so little you can always
break through the crowd."
"Hello, Susanna! Did you get on the campus too?"
"Thanks awfully, but I can't to-night. My freshman cousin's up, you
know, and homesick and----"
"Oh, girls, isn't it fun to be back?"
It all sounded so jolly and familiar. Weren't any of them freshmen? Did
they guess that she was a freshman "and homesick"? Betty straightened
proudly and resolved that they should not. If only the registrar had got
father's telegram. As she stood hesitating on the station platform,
amazed at the wilderness of trunks and certain that no one could
possibly find her until that shouting, rushing mob in front of her had
dispersed, a pretty girl in immaculate white duck hurried up to her.
"Pardon me," she said, reaching out a hand for Betty's golf clubs, "but
aren't you a stranger here? Could I help you, perhaps, about getting
your luggage up?"
Betty looked at her doubtfully. "I don't know," she said. "Yes, I'm
going to enter college, and my elder sister couldn't get here until a
later train. But father telegraphed the registrar to meet me. Do you
know her? Could you point her out?"
The pretty girl's lips curved into the faint suggestion of a smile.
"Yes," she said, "I know her--only too well for my peace of mind
occasionally. But I'm afraid she hasn't come to meet you. You see she's
very busy these first days--there are a great many of you freshman, all
wanting different things. So she sends us down instead."
"Oh, I see." Betty's face brightened. "Then if you would tell me how to
get to Mrs. Chapin's on Meriden Place."
"Mrs. Chapin's!" exclaimed the pretty girl. "That's easy. Most of you
want such outlandish streets. But that's close to the campus, where I'm
going myself. My time is just up, I'm happy to say. Give me your checks
and your house number, and then we'll take a car, unless you wouldn't
mind walking. It's not far."
On the way to Mrs. Chapin's Betty learned that her new friend's name was
Dorothy King, that she was a junior and roomed in the Hilton House, that
she went in for science, but was fond of music and was a member of the
Glee Club; that she was back a day early for the express purpose of
meeting freshmen at the trains. In return Betty explained how she had
been obliged at the last moment to come east alone; how sister Nan, who
was nine years older than she and five years out of college, was coming
down from a house party at Kittery Point, but couldn't get in till eight
that night; and father had insisted that Betty be sure to arrive by
daylight.
"Wales--Wales----" repeated the pretty junior. "Why, your sister must
have been the clever Miss Wales in '9-, the one who wrote so well and
all. She is? How fine! I'm sorry, but I leave you here. Mrs. Chapin's is
that big yellow house, the second on the left side--yes. I know you'll
like it there. And Miss Wales, you mustn't mind if the sophomores get
hold of that joke about your asking the registrar to meet you. I won't
tell, but it will be sure to leak out somehow. You see it's really
awfully funny. The registrar is almost as important as the president,
and a lot more dignified and unapproachable, until you get to know
her. She'll think it too good to keep, and the sophomores will be
sure to get hold of it and put it in the book of grinds for their
reception--souvenirs they give you, you know. Now good-bye. May I call
later? Thank you so much. Good-bye."
Betty was blushing hotly as she climbed Mrs. Chapin's steps. But her
chagrin at having proved herself so "verdant" a freshman was tempered
with elation at the junior's cordiality. "Nan said I wasn't to run into
friendships," she reflected. "But she must be nice. She knows the Clays.
Oh, I hope she won't forget to come!"
Betty Wales had come to college without any particular enthusiasm for
it, though she was naturally an enthusiastic person. She loved Nan
dearly, but didn't approve of her scheme of life, and wasn't at all
prepared to like college just because Nan had. Being so much younger
than her sister, she had never visited her at Harding, but she had met a
good many of her friends; and comparing their stories of life at Harding
with the experiences of one or two of her own mates who were at the
boarding-school, she had decided that of two evils she should prefer
college, because there seemed to be more freedom and variety about it.
Being of a philosophical turn of mind, she was now determined to enjoy
herself, if possible. She pinned her faith to a remark that her favorite
among all Nan's friends had made to her that summer. "Oh, you'll like
college, Betty," she had said. "Not just as Nan or I did, of course.
Every girl has her own reasons for liking college--but every nice girl
likes it."
Betty decided that she had already found two of her reasons: the pretty
Miss King and Mrs. Chapin's piazza, which was exceedingly attractive for
a boarding-house. A girl was lounging in a hammock behind the vines, and
another in a big piazza chair was reading aloud to her. "They must be
old girls," thought Betty, "to seem so much at home." Then she
remembered that Mrs. Chapin had said hers would probably be an "all
freshman house," and decided that they were friends from the same town.
Mrs. Chapin presently appeared, to show Betty to her room and explain
that her roommate would not arrive till the next morning. Betty dressed
and then sat down to study for her French examination, which came next
day; but before she had finished deciding which couch she preferred or
where they could possibly put two desks and a tea-table, the bell rang
for dinner.
This bid fair to be a silent and dismal meal. All the girls had come
except Betty's roommate, and most of them, being freshmen, were in the
depths of examinations and homesickness. But there was one shining
exception, a very lively sophomore, who had waited till the last moment
hoping to get an assignment on the campus, and then had come to Mrs.
Chapin's in the place of a freshman who had failed in her examinations.
"She had six, poor thing!" explained the sophomore to Betty, who sat
beside her. "And just think! She'd had a riding horse and a mahogany
desk with a secret drawer sent on from home. Wish I could inherit them
along with her room. Now, my name is Mary Brooks. Tell me yours, and
I'll ask the girl on the other side and introduce you; and that will
start the ball rolling."
These energetic measures succeeded much better than Mrs. Chapin's
somewhat perfunctory remarks about the dry weather, and the whole table
was soon talking busily. The two piazza girls proved to be sisters, Mary
and Adelaide Rich, from Haddam, Connecticut. Betty decided that they
were rather stupid and too inclined to stick together to be much fun. A
tall, homely girl at the end of the table created a laugh by introducing
herself as Miss Katherine Kittredge of Kankakee.
"The state is Illinois," she added, "but that spoils the alliteration."
"The what?" whispered Betty to the sophomore.
But Miss Brooks only laughed and said, "Wait till you've finished
freshman English."
Betty's other neighbor was a pale, quiet little girl, with short hair
and a drawl. Betty couldn't decide whether she meant to be "snippy" or
was only shy and offish. After she had said that her name was Roberta
Lewis and her home Philadelphia, Betty inquired politely whether she
expected to like college.
"I expect to detest it," replied Miss Lewis slowly and distinctly, and
spoke not another word during dinner. But though she ate busily and kept
her eyes on her plate, Betty was sure that she heard all that was said,
and would have liked to join in, only she didn't know how.
The one really beautiful girl at the table was Miss Eleanor Watson. Her
complexion was the daintiest pink and white, her black hair waved softly
under the big hat which she had not stopped to take off, and her hazel
eyes were plaintive one moment and sparkling the next, as her mood
changed. She talked a good deal and very well, and it was hard to
realize that she was only sixteen and a freshman. She had fitted for
college at a big preparatory school in the east, and so, although she
happened to be the only Denver girl in college, she had a great many
friends in the upper classes and appeared to know quite as much about
college customs as Miss Brooks. All this impressed Betty, who admired
beauty and pretty clothes immensely. She resolved to have Eleanor Watson
for a friend if she could, and was pleased when Miss Watson inquired how
many examinations she had, and suggested that they would probably be in
the same divisions, since their names both began with W.
The remaining girl at Mrs. Chapin's table was not particularly striking.
She had a great mass of golden brown hair, which she wore coiled loosely
in her neck. Her keen grey eyes looked the world straight in the face,
and her turned-up nose and the dimple in her chin gave her a merry,
cheerful air. She did not talk much, and not at all about herself, but
she gave the impression of being a thoroughly nice, bright, capable
girl. Her name was Rachel Morrison.
After dinner Betty was starting up-stairs when Mary Brooks called her
back. "Won't you walk over to the campus with me, little girl?" she
asked. "I have one or two errands. Oh no, you don't need a hat. You
never do here."
So they wandered off bareheaded in the moonlight, which made the
elm-shaded streets look prettier than ever. On the dusky campus girls
strolled about in devoted pairs and sociable quartettes. On the piazza
of one of the dwelling-houses somebody was singing a fascinating little
Scotch ballad with a tinkling mandolin accompaniment.
"Must be Dorothy King," said the sophomore. "I thought she wouldn't come
till eight. Most people don't."
"Oh!" exclaimed Betty, "I know her!" And she related her adventure at
the station.
"That's so," said Miss Brooks. "I'd forgotten. She's awfully popular,
you know, and very prominent,--belongs to no end of societies. But
whatever the Young Women's Christian Association wants of her she does.
You know they appoint girls to meet freshmen and help them find
boarding-places and so on. She's evidently on that committee. Let's stop
and say hello to her."
Betty, hanging behind, was amazed to see the commotion caused by Miss
Brooks's arrival. The song stopped abruptly, the mandolin slammed to the
floor, and performers and audience fell as one woman upon the newcomer.
"Why, Mary Brooks! When did you come?"
"Did you get a room, honey?"
"Oh, Mary, where did you put on that lovely tan?"
"Mary, is Sarah coming back, do you know?"
"Hush up, girls, and let her tell us!"
It was like the station, only more so, and oh, it was nice--if you were
in it. Mary answered some of their questions and then looked around for
Betty. "I've lost a freshman," she said, "Here, Miss Wales, come up and
sit on the railing. She knows you, Dottie, and she wants to hear you
sing. These others are some of the Hilton House, Miss Wales. Please
consider yourselves introduced. Now, Dottie."
So the little Scotch ballad began again. Presently some one else came
up, there were more effusive greetings, and then another song or two,
after which Miss King and "some of the Hilton House" declared that they
simply must go and unpack. Betty, suddenly remembering her trunk and her
sister, decided to let Miss Brooks do her other "errands" alone, and
found her way back to Mrs. Chapin's. Sure enough, Nan was sitting on the
piazza.
"Hello, little sister," she called gaily as Betty hurried up the walk.
"Don't say you're sorry to be late. It's the worst possible thing for
little freshmen to mope round waiting for people, and I'm glad you had
the sense not to. Your trunk's come, but if you're not too tired let's
go up and see Ethel Hale before we unpack it."
Ethel Hale had spent a whole summer with Nan, and Betty beat her at
tennis and called her Ethel, and she called Betty little sister, just as
Nan did. But here she was a member of the faculty. "I shall never dare
come near her after you leave," said Betty. Just as she said it the door
of the room opened--Nan had explained that it was a freshman trick to
ring front door-bells--and Ethel rushed out and dragged them in.
"Miss Blaine and Miss Mills are here," she said.
Betty gathered from the subsequent conversation that Miss Blaine and
Miss Mills were also members of the faculty; and they were. But they had
just come in from a horseback ride, and they sat in rather disheveled
attitudes, eating taffy out of a paper bag, and their conversation was
very amusing and perfectly intelligible, even to a freshman who had
still an examination to pass.
"I didn't suppose the faculty ever acted like that. Why, they're just
like other people," declared Betty, as she tumbled into bed a little
later.
"They're exactly like other people," returned Nan sagely, from the
closet where she was hanging up skirts. "Just remember that and you'll
have a lot nicer time with them."
So ended Betty's first day at college. Nan finished unpacking, and then
sat for a long time by the window. Betty loved Nan, but Nan in return
worshiped Betty. They might call her the clever Miss Wales if they
liked; she would gladly have given all her vaunted brains for the
fascinating little ways that made Betty friends so quickly and for the
power to take life in Betty's free-and-easy fashion. "Oh, I hope she'll
like it!" she thought. "I hope she'll be popular with the girls. I don't
want her to have to work so hard for all she gets. I wouldn't exchange
my course for hers, but I want hers to be the other kind."
Betty was sound asleep.